


The Birds That Don't Rise - Book 1: Sense of Wonder

by VereorNox



Category: Christian Bible, Highschool DxD (Anime), Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Fallen Angels, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Possession, Reincarnation, Superpowers, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 15:37:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18524482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VereorNox/pseuds/VereorNox
Summary: Taylor was crazy. That’s what her parents said. That’s what the therapist had agreed. That’s what the drugs were for. Oh, they didn’t say she was crazy, they called it ‘paranoid schizophrenia’, but that’s what they meant. The angel resting its head on her shoulder found it all terribly amusing. Taylor was finding it harder and harder not to laugh along. (Inspired by Ava's Demon and Dresden Files)





	1. Arc 1: Faith - Guardian Angel

Taylor poked the food with her fork. Saying she wasn’t hungry would be an understatement. She was never hungry. She had to force herself to eat on a schedule, because appetite was hard to come by. 

Her mother noticed—her mother _always_ noticed—but she never said anything. Taylor wished things could go back to how they had been. Back when her family had been close, when her dad had still been living here with them. But they couldn’t go back to how they had been, because she was wrong in the head. 

Her mother assured her that all it’d take was therapy. Taking her medicine as prescribed. But this particular hallucation stuck around. It floated around on raven wings, amusing itself by watching her misery. Taylor wanted to call it disgusting, but she couldn’t. 

Because despite all of the misery, nothing about that angel warranted such a word. It was the kind of beauty that’d make you question your sexuality, that endearing air that you wanted to stay close to. 

But it came with a personality so rotten, so absurdly awful, that all you’d find at the end of the road were the ruins it had left your life in. 

“The teacher called again today,” her mom said. Taylor nodded. She knew he would. “I want you to know I’m not upset with you.” 

The angel smiled. It descended from the ceiling, its arms wrapping weightlessly around her mother’s back. Taylor wanted to stand up and rip its arms away, but the last time she had done such a thing… she preferred not to think of it. 

Her mother had given up on actually punishing her for anything. Everything could be blamed on the illness. If Taylor kept telling herself that, maybe it’d even be true one day. 

Maybe one day the medicine would finally start working. 

But no, these delusions were something she had already given up on. This was real. 

Then again, every crazy person thought their hallucinations were real. Taylor took a fork full of the noodles on her plate and swallowed them without chewing, trying as hard as she could to keep them in. 

It tasted like sand to her. Her tongue was numb from all the side effects of her medication and her stomach felt full after a single bite. She stood up, taking her plate to the sink after emptying the rest of the contents into the trash. 

“And to be fair,” her mom began right as Taylor was about to walk up to her room. Taylor turned around. “You didn’t say anything people weren’t thinking. I’ve heard rumors about the man.” 

That made Taylor laugh. Her mother wasn’t wrong. Then again, using the words ‘boy-molesting fruit’ might not have been the best idea during a math test. Gossip had it that the man had transferred to their school after being caught with a student in a locker room. Apparently Winslow’s need for teachers was larger than the need for students to have a safe learning environment. 

### 

Taylor was lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her vision was filled with dark wings as the angel floated over her, smiling. 

“You have to stop doing that,” Taylor said. “If I get expelled, I’ll make it harder for my mom.” 

“I’m not doing anything,” the angel lied. “I simply give a voice to your thoughts. You’re no innocent victim, Taylor—the innocent don’t _have_ thoughts like that.” 

Taylor clenched her eyes shut. For good measure, she put her fists over them, rubbing them with her knuckles as if she could erase whatever was in front of them. But no, the angel’s light shone through. Radiance that surpassed radiance. If she were to stab her eyes out, she would still be able to see it. 

“Why do you hate me so much?” Taylor asked. “Every waking moment you make people around me uncomfortable. Every night, you haunt my dreams. What do you want from me? What am I supposed to do to satisfy you?” 

“Be true to yourself.” The angel was looking over at the small boxes where Taylor had sorted her medicine. “You haven’t called me by my name in years.” 

“Because if I give you a name, it makes you real,” Taylor said, repeating her therapist’s words. “If I think you’re real, the medicine’s less effective.” 

“That works with insane people, not with you. I _am_ real. You’re sane, Taylor Hebert.” 

“You’re right, Raynare,” Taylor said, whipping her hands out at the angel. She flickered, moving towards the door and out of reach of Taylor’s fists. “You’re the insane one.” 

Raynare smiled, genuinely joyful. It made her lovely, and Taylor hated it. She stepped forward, her arms wrapping around Taylor. They were without warmth. Without weight. What Taylor felt was dread, her heart pounding so hard it might as well be trying to jump out of her throat. 

“I love you, Taylor.” 

“Your love is twisted.” 

#### 

It was Sunday. Taylor hasn’t taken her medicine in two days. Her appetite had come back; her sense of taste was there again. She smiled more, and her mother was happier. Raynare had made good on her promise. 

Once Taylor had stopped taking the antipsychotics, Raynare had been less aggressive about forcing Taylor to say things she didn’t want to. Without that strange hazy wisp in front of her vision, things suddenly seemed to look up for her. 

Somehow, even Raynare had become more expressive. Perhaps the medicine had more of an effect on her than the angel liked to admit. Either way, it meant that when Taylor approached a church on a Sunday—long after most people had left—Raynare was visibly upset. 

“I don’t see what you’d want here,” Raynare said, crossing her arms. “Do you think going in there would get rid of me?” 

“Answers,” Taylor said. All she had ever been looking for. Raynare was tight-lipped about how exactly she’d ended up bound to Taylor. She hadn’t picked her randomly, that much she admitted. But Taylor wasn’t content to leave it at that. So she entered. 

Fortunately—or unfortunately, perhaps—Raynare did not go up in a burst of flames. She seemed rather comfortable, deciding to sit down at the very front, on one of the clean pews. Actually, the whole church was… clean. She couldn’t even tell what kind of church it was. Statistics would imply Protestant, but the nuns she could see in the neighborhood always gave her second thoughts. 

Then again, considering the neighborhood, those might’ve been strippers instead. Taylor was content to leave that thought behind, taking her own seat in the very back. 

She closed her eyes. What should she do? Pray? 

Taylor had never been a person of faith. Her parents weren’t religious, so most of what she knew of it were from TV shows and news reports about yet another scandal involving Catholic priests molesting little boys. 

“Hello,” someone said. Taylor blinked, looking up. A man stood there, dressed like a pastor. “You haven’t been here before, have you?” 

Taylor shook her head. “I’m not very religious.” 

“That’s fine,” he said. “We welcome everyone with open arms here, though I’m afraid the service is already over.” 

Raynare scoffed. Taylor ignored her. 

“I’ve come to think,” Taylor said. “I apologize, please don’t let me hold you up.” 

The pastor said nothing—instead he took a seat next to her, a bit over an arm’s length away. He smiled, nodding. 

“I can always make time, child. If I can be of some assistance, please don’t hesitate to ask.” 

Taylor considered for a moment. Her appearance was unkempt, she had bags under her eyes from the chronic lack of sleep, and unless her mother made her, she sometimes forgot to take a shower. If she had to summarize herself right now, to a pastor, she’d look like a ‘troubled child’. 

Which was fine. If he wanted to think that, she wouldn’t correct him. Wouldn’t even blame him. She’d come here for answers, after all, and if he wanted to hear her questions, she wouldn’t reject him. 

“When someone has sinned,” Taylor started, “something so… heinous that it’d be beyond anyone’s grasp of forgiveness. Do you think it’d still be possible for them to go to heaven?” 

Raynare was sitting between them now, her face now in an ugly scowl. It made her seem… _less_ , somehow, her beauty more human.The pastor hummed, looking forward. 

“That’s one of those questions where the answer will change quite dramatically depending on who you ask,” he said. 

Taylor frowned. “Shouldn’t you assume that your faith is the correct one, and that your answer would be right?” 

“It’d be right for me,” he said. “However, it is my belief that regardless of what faith you follow, it will not be your prayers that are measured, but rather the content of your character. Nobody is exclusively good or bad.” 

“Some would disagree,” Taylor said, glancing over his shoulder at Raynare’s wings. “Can a lifetime of good deeds really make up for grave sins?” 

“That is not a question I can answer,” the pastor said. “It is, after all, not my decision. All I can do is give advice—it is by His grace that we enter heaven, and by His mercy that we’re forgiven.” 

“By His hand that we’re bound in chains, our wings charred black,” Raynare said, an edge to her voice. Taylor had never seen the angel so emotional. Annoyance and small tantrums were the most she had to offer, but genuine anger? God must’ve made quite an impression. 

“Do you believe you’ve done something that can’t be forgiven?” he asked. Taylor nearly jumped out of her seat. Calming herself, she shook her head, dark hair rustling against the back of her neck. 

“Like I said, I’m not really faithful,” Taylor said. “I have a… friend. She doesn’t show it, but she worries a lot about what will happen when I’m gone. I can’t give her the peace of mind she wants; everything I do makes her unhappy, but…” 

Raynare grabbed Taylor by the wrist. Taylor shook her loose with her own strength for once, driving her knuckles into the pews. The pastor looked down at the hand, which she was nursing now. 

“Maybe,” Taylor said, standing up, “if I can’t give her peace in this life, she can find peace in the next with me.” 

The pastor quickly stood up as well. It took Taylor only a moment to realize how that must’ve sounded to him, so she didn’t immediately flinch back when he put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Please,” he said, his voice rushing out. “Come by next week. We can talk more. I apologize for not introducing myself earlier. I’m Pastor Robinson. Would you mind telling me your name?” 

Taylor held back a scream. Now she’d convinced the man she was suicidal. 

Then again, from Raynare’s absolutely furious look, she had interpreted the words the same way. Taylor meant ‘maybe after a lifetime of misery, they can find peace in the afterlife’, not ‘hey let's commit a cardinal sin and head straight to hell’. 

“Taylor Hebert,” she said. “I go to Winslow. Don’t worry, I’ll be there next week, maybe tomorrow. I didn’t mean it like that.” 

He sighed slightly. Taylor could’ve sworn he’d had a phone in his hands just a second earlier. She didn’t need another stay in an asylum, so hopefully giving him some info would avoid the wellness check. 

“Thank you,” Taylor said, smiling. “I mean it. I might not have gotten the answers I wanted but I appreciate your honesty.” 

The man smiled back, lifting his hand off her shoulder. “It was my pleasure. If you want to stay a bit longer, I can prepare tea.” 

“No,” Taylor said. “I have to get home, or my mom will worry. Thank you, again.” 

“You’re welcome, Ms. Hebert. Have a safe trip home.” 

#### 

After Taylor left the church, and walked back home at a steady pace, Raynare exploded. Halfway there, the weightless grip turned into a crushing shove into a wall. Taylor coughed as pain crept up her back. Fortunately, no people were near. 

“What was that?” Raynare hissed. “Are you so desperate to get rid of me that you’d die? Are you that mad? Do you think it’s _Heaven_ that’s waiting for us, you insipid little fool?” 

“Heaven or Hell,” Taylor said, shoving back against Raynare. “I don’t care where we go, but you’re clearly not happy being chained to me like some pet. And I’m miserable around you, because you’ve ruined my family, driven off most of my friends, and made my teachers hate me.” 

“Your family was ruining itself,” Raynare said. “All I did was give a little push.” 

“That’s all you ever do,” Taylor said, her own voice cracking. “Give a little push. Watch the dominos fall. Watch everything around you turn into a wreck, then pretend you’re not responsible for it. You’re not capable of owning up for anything, my father—” 

“If having a ‘weird’ kid was enough to make your father run out on you, he was never worthy of being your father!” 

“Are you talking about me or you?” Taylor asked. Raynare took a step back, as if Taylor had struck her. Taylor faltered. “You’re… n-not wrong. But he’s still my dad. I love him. If you claim to love me, why can’t you leave the things I love alone?” 

Raynare had no answer. For once in her entire life, it was not Taylor that was on the back foot. Taylor could have leveraged it, pressed harder, pushed further. Made the angel that was bound to her soul feel what that soul felt. 

But she didn’t. Rather than wait for Raynare to regain her bearings, Taylor went back home. 


	2. Dragons

Taylor’s gaze drilled into her opposition’s. Her best friend turned enemy. The most treacherous of all people. 

“If you don’t give me that slice of pie back,” Taylor said, narrowing her eyes, “I’m going to stab you with this fork.” 

“It’s made of plastic, you think that’ll hurt?” Sophia asked, grinning. The pie was serious business. It was about the only edible thing you could get in the cafeteria of this third-rate school. Usually they were there early enough to get one each, but after another ill-timed insult in math class, this time by Sophia, they’d had to hear the teacher rant for a few minutes before they could go to lunch. 

Taylor hadn’t even done anything! She’d just laughed with everyone. The pedo was just out to get her for exposing him. 

Today, Taylor had been fortunate enough to get the last slice. Unfortunately, Sophia was not very happy about that—and rudely physically gifted, which was why _she_ was the one holding the pie instead of Taylor. Raynare was lying on her stomach, on the table, her oddly-Greek robes draped around her as she watched with interest. 

“If I stab you in the eye,” Taylor said, “it will.” 

Sophia grinned. The people left in the cafeteria slowly made their way towards tables as far away from the two as possible. Nobody wanted to mess with the crazy girls. 

“We can resolve this with less bloodshed, you know,” Sophia replied, and because she was Sophia, she sounded slightly disappointed about it. 

“Yeah, if you give me the pie I paid for,” Taylor said, holding the fork up. “If you eat even a piece of it, I won’t forgive you.” 

Sophia challenged her. Her free hand slowly moved towards the buttery crust, her fingers caressing the pastry. Taylor jumped over the table. Sophia quickly put the pie on it, then caught Taylor’s wrist and shoved her back over. 

Taylor landed on her spine with a grunt, pain shooting through her body. 

“You’re the worst best friend ever,” Taylor said. 

“You were seriously going to gouge my eye out over pie.” 

Taylor said nothing. Sophia wasn’t wrong. 

Instead, both of them started to laugh. Sophia seemed… happy about something. 

“Something on your mind?” Taylor said, sitting down next to Sophia once she’d gotten up off the floor and used the fork to halve the slice crudely. 

“You actually want to eat something,” Sophia said. “Not just because I’m getting it, but because you want it.” 

“Ah,” Taylor said, staring at the plate. Was she so detached from the usual routine that she hadn’t even noticed? It wasn’t the pie that made Sophia tease her, it was the fact that suddenly, the world was growing colors again, and her best friend had noticed. “I’ve… stopped taking my meds.” 

The one person she’d admit it to was her. She was the only one who’d understand. “So you’re actually getting hungry now? Can you taste anything?” 

“Yeah, it’s kinda weird, I’m worried I’ll put on weight.” 

Sophia poked her side. Taylor shuffled away. 

“You might as well.” Sophia seemed amused. “You’re skin and bones. We’re going to eat big tonight.” 

“I’ve got plans for this evening,” Taylor said, carefully not mentioning that the plans included visiting a church, if only to make sure the pastor didn’t phone the school. “Maybe tomorrow?” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

#### 

“We never live up to the ideals of our fathers, do we?” Raynare asked, sitting next to her during the sparsely populated sermon. Weren’t those supposed to be held on Sundays anyway? 

Taylor shook her head. “Apparently not. You wanna talk about it?” 

Any information she could pull from Raynare was valuable. Knowing more about the demons—or angels, in this case—that haunted you might make them more real, but at this point she didn’t mind being a little mad. 

“Have you ever wondered why angels fell? The scriptures aren’t entirely wrong.” 

“So what’s the right answer?” 

“We were made to be absolute and perfect,” Raynare explained. “Whole unto ourselves, with our only need the love of God. So when our leaders fell in love with mortals, that was imperfection. And in that imperfection, people like me, idiotic followers who couldn’t so much as breathe without an order, saw freedom.” 

“Because if your father made you perfect, then why was imperfection possible? Isn’t that just the question of evil?” 

“I found my answer long ago. In the end, even He isn’t perfect. Even He has flaws, and He made us in His image…” 

“I get it,” Taylor said, nodding. “And once you fall, there’s no way back?” 

“Absolute beings under an absolute rule.” 

“Do you regret it?” 

Raynare closed her eyes, breathing out through the nose with a heavy sigh. “Many of us were killed; some of us got captured. The latter were punished by binding their very being to a soul not yet born, so that we might understand the true price of our sin. You’re asking me if I regret being bound to you.” 

“Do you? You speak of love, but I don’t get that kind of love. What is there to love about your jailer?” 

“Maybe you’re right, Taylor,” Raynare said. For a moment, she sounded as old as the world. “Maybe I’m the one who’s gone mad, after millions of years, watching countless lives rise and fall and rise again with only your warmth to keep me company. You saved me. Maybe I love you because of that. Maybe I love you because I got tired of hating you instead. Does it matter?” 

“Yeah,” Taylor said, shrugging, “I’m right. You’re batshit insane.” 

#### 

“Dragons,” Mr. Gladly said. “Who can tell me about them?” 

Almost all hands in the class went up. Taylor’s didn’t. Of course, that made him point at her. Taylor sighed, rubbing her eyes. 

“We don’t know where they’re from, we don’t know what they want. Most of them aren’t aggressive, there can be years between attacks. Hero kicked the ass of one.”  


“You need to work a bit on your storytelling, but you’re correct. Dragons appeared around the same time as the first parahuman, Scion, who has been missing since that appearance. They all look different, have different abilities, and are practically immune to any conventional weaponry. Do you know the name of Hero’s weapon?” 

“Isn’t it just called Dragonslayer?” Taylor asked. Gladly shook his head. 

“That’s the title he got after he managed to shoot one of them down. It’s the Autonomous Cannon System, better known as ‘Gram’, which is located in the Southwest, in Arizona.” 

“Why only there?” someone in class asked. Taylor put her head on the desk. She’d had enough of exposition. 

“After the dragon, Fafnir, died, Hero fell into a coma. Since then, Gram has been researched thoroughly, but nobody has managed to replicate it as of yet—” 

The bell rang, giving Taylor that sweet salvation she yearned for. 

“Dragons, huh?” Raynare asked. Taylor growled. Audibly, loudly growled. People jumped out of her way when she grabbed her bag and left the room, ignoring Gladly’s announcement of the homework for that class. “You know, people often thought the myth of dragons came from fallen angels, but that’s just not true.” 

“I really don’t care, Raynare,” Taylor said, not caring about who could hear. 

“Over the years I’ve often wondered about it,” Raynare said, ignoring Taylor’s increasing speed. “I said ‘hmm, Raynare, who could be stupid enough to release every sealed dragon at once?’, and I realized something. And you know what I realized?” 

“WHAT?” Taylor shouted, spinning on a heel. 

A girl behind Raynare screamed and ran away, crying. Taylor frowning, her already sour mood worsening. 

“I think angels are on the move,” Raynare said. “Something made them desperate enough to bring the dragons out, and they can’t get them back in their cages.” 

“And this is relevant to me _how exactly_?” Taylor asked. God, there was nothing worse than a Raynare who knew she was being irritating. 

“It isn’t at all,” Raynare said, smiling. Taylor punched her. Raynare dodged casually, like Taylor was just flailing at the air. 

To anyone watching, she was. 

#### 

Taylor was lying in her bed, and for once hadn’t shut her eyes from reality. Raynare was floating above her, slowly dropping onto her. Weightless. Dreadfully weightless. 

Swallowing the sense of wrongness, Taylor raised one hand to her forehead, wiping down her face. Her expression was still somewhere between irritated and furious, but Raynare didn’t seem to mind. Some days Taylor thought Raynare preferred it that way—like she’d forgotten how to deal with anything else. 

“You want to say something,” Raynare said. “Just say it. Once it’s out, you’ll feel better.” 

“Things are _loud_ ,” Taylor said. “They’re _bright_. They smell intensely. They make me feel… like things are going alright. Somehow, even you are less irritating. But…” 

“You worry, don’t you?” Raynare asked. “What if your mom finds out you stopped taking the meds? What if the therapist does? You have an appointment soon, don’t you?” 

“Screw those pills,” Taylor said. “I was curious, about God and the world. About Creation, about Heaven and Hell. I thought about asking you, but you’re just so insufferable, I can’t.” 

“You didn’t seem that interested earlier today in class,” Raynare said, smiling. She was too close now, pressing that smile into Taylor’s chest, somehow rustling her clothes despite Raynare’s lack of body. “In fact, you scared that girl there so much I think she’s still crying at home.” 

Taylor clicked her tongue. Regret was a wasted emotion. She’d apologize tomorrow if she had the chance. Then again, she’d never managed to apologize to that one boy in her class she’d demeaned so much in front of the entire school that almost the whole semester had passed, and he had yet to come back. 

Raynare thought the week-long suspension was worth it. Taylor disagreed. 

“God wasn’t around at first,” Raynare said. “There are things older than Him; not quite as strong, but if any of them had considered the idea of creating their own universe of hairless apes, they might have succeeded.” 

“And dragons are that?” 

“Somewhat—there are some dragons so old that He didn’t create them,” Raynare clarified. “Then there are others who were born as a consequence of Him fiddling with reality. They’re beings of pure energy, put into different castes. They’re not too different from angels that way, really. I sometimes wonder if that’s where he got the inspiration from.” 

“So if angels fell because of mortals…” Taylor said. “And you’ve been out for millions of years. Were we around back then?” 

“The first humans lived long lives,” Raynare said. “Earth is a more… recent creation. I wouldn’t call Noah’s Ark a spaceship, but—” 

“I’m going to bed.” 

Raynare blinked. “What?”  


“Now you’re just fucking with me.” 

“No, really, do you think this planet is the first one humans have destroyed with their greed? I could write you essays about global warming and climate change. I offered to help you with your homework on that once.” 

“I think you’re full of shit,” Taylor said, totally honest. “Maybe your sense of time got fucked by years of imprisonment.” 

“I’ll have you know that I’m perfectly capable of telling the time at any point,” Raynare said, scoffing. “I was there when God installed the Sun, you think I can’t tell where it is whenever I need to?” 

Taylor shook her head, closing her eyes. 

“Good night, Raynare.” 


	3. Breaking Apart

“Your mother has mentioned you seem different lately,” Dr. Richards said. The woman didn’t have anything in her hands. A cup of tea sat steaming gently in front of her. Taylor had her own, the hot ceramic warming her hands. “Has anything happened?” 

“Good different or bad different?” Taylor asked. 

“We’ve spoken about this, Taylor. You can’t answer a question with another question.” 

“I can,” Taylor said, watching Raynare sit at the doctor’s desk, her long legs flung across it. “You just don’t like it because to you it sounds like I’m avoiding the question.” 

“Are you?” 

“Things have been going well lately,” Taylor said, sighing. “I’ve had fewer outbursts. I decided to start jogging with Sophia.” 

“Exercise is always good. It’s not a bad idea to work that into your routine. Has anything happened to cause the sudden change? Yours seems a bit outside the norm, given the abruptness.” 

“Nothing, really,” Taylor lied. “I’ve been trying to reach out to people and it’s been going okay.” 

“Your mother said you sometimes come home late after school, but you won’t tell her where you went.” 

That was a lie. Taylor told her she was with Sophia. 

Which meant that her mom must’ve called Sophia’s and asked. She couldn’t be mad at the distrust, but the fact that she’d gone to the therapist first rather than confront Taylor herself hurt. 

She wasn’t _that_ fragile. 

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” Taylor said. “I’ve been visiting the Orchard’s Church downtown.” 

The doctor hummed. Taylor’s eyebrows furrowed. What would she say? She knew from past conversations that the doctor wouldn’t outright tell her mother everything, but instead assure her that she wasn’t doing anything dangerous, provided it was actually true. 

“Would you say you’ve found faith?” the doctor asked. Taylor shook her head. “Why do you go to a church, then?” 

“It has something… calming?” Taylor said. “I don’t go there during mass or whatever they call it. I go when it’s not very full and I have time to think there.” 

“And the hallucination? This ‘angel’?” 

“It doesn’t bother me in churches,” Taylor whispered. Lying to a therapist of all things, of course that was going to go well. “If you want to confirm my story, you can just ask Pastor Robinson.” 

“I believe you,” Dr. Richards said. “I know the pastor, he’s a good man. If you find yourself in trouble, I can understand why you went to him. What would you say made you go there?” 

“If you want me to say that the hallucination suggested it, no,” Taylor said. “I needed a quiet place to think, and I thought that’d be the best. People hanging around for after school clubs are too loud, and home is too… heavy.” 

“Wouldn’t it be the opposite?” the doctor asked. At Taylor’s look, she clarified. “If the fallen angel got near a church, shouldn’t it be upset about it?” 

Taylor crossed her arms and smiled. “I suppose.” 

Raynare flipped the doctor off, unseen as always. 

### 

“Hey, God, are you there?” Taylor asked the empty air. Raynare, for once, was silent. They had arrived at home after the appointment; her mother had left immediately for some meeting, so she was alone. “It’s me, Taylor.” 

No answer came. 

“Someone asked me today if I had found faith,” Taylor said. “Is it faith if I know you exist?”  


“He won’t answer, you know,” Raynare said, her voice quiet. “He never does. You can stand in front of Him and your voice won’t reach Him.” 

“Not every question needs an answer,” Taylor said. Raynare shrugged. “Sometimes just talking helps.” 

“You’re talking to thin air, though. That’s not exactly healthy.” 

Taylor looked at Raynare. Her gaze drilled into the angel. Raynare just stared back. Neither of them caved in. For a moment, they seemed almost sisters—dark hair to dark hair, gemstone eyes to gemstone eyes. But Taylor’s were dulled, tarnished, cobweb tangles and green with envy; Raynare’s were set into a silk-and-marble statue, coils of shadow and sunset-sweet. 

Then Taylor’s phone rang. It was Sophia. Taylor flipped the phone open, holding it to her ear. 

“You fucker better get your ass down to the mall,” Sophia said. “Because if you picked up, your shrink didn’t send you back to the funny farm.” 

“I just got home,” Taylor said. “Can’t I get one second to relax?” 

“You can relax at the mall. You need new shoes if you wanna run with me. I’ll give you ten minutes.” 

“The mall is at least twenty aw—” 

“Ten minutes!” 

### 

Fifteen minutes and a slight jog later, Taylor found Sophia in front of a burger joint. Fast Food’s Fast Food, as uncreative as the name was, wasn’t that inaccurate. There was rarely a line because of just how fast the food went. 

When Sophia spotted Taylor, she handed her a paper-wrapped burger the size of her head. 

“Uh, thanks?” Taylor said. She couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t hungry, but her newly found appetite wasn’t exactly something she wanted to play around with too much. She’d overeaten a few days ago and her mother had told her not to push herself if she didn’t have an appetite, but right now the opposite was the problem. “So, new shoes you said?” 

“Eat up while we’re walking, I’ve got something of a surprise for you,” Sophia said. Taylor didn’t have to be told twice, unwrapping the mess of a burger and biting into it. It was juicy, slightly greasy, and above all else, delicious. “A friend from out of town came by and I wanted you to meet them. I like you, so you really need to talk to more people than me and your mom.” 

“And my therapist,” Taylor said, her mouth half-full of the burger. Wolfing down the rest, she continued. “Friends from out of town, though? Is little old me not enough for you?” 

“You’re more than enough. A real handful,” Sophia said. They reached a place near the bathroom. A girl sat there on a small bench, Taylor sighed. Sophia raised an eyebrow. “What?” 

“You should’ve told me we were meeting your girlfriend,” Taylor said. “Here I thought I had a chance—” 

Sophia unceremoniously slammed her elbow into Taylor’s side. Taylor keeled over, exploding into a fit of laughter. The girl looked up, her eyes lighting up when she spotted Sophia. 

She was Asian. Petite. Pretty, in the kind of wild way that Sophia was. The scar that ran from the bridge of her nose down her left cheek helped that image. Raynare stood in front of the girl, her eyes tracing the scar. 

“Taylor, Lily,” Sophia said. “Lily, Taylor. My best friend from school and the only person who can stand me for longer than an hour at a time.” 

Lily grinned. Taylor threw the burger wrapper away after wiping her face, shaking Lily’s hand. 

“I have to say, that’s impressive,” Lily said. “Last time I had to spend a day with her, I went insane.” 

“No worries,” Taylor said. “I have plenty of experience with insanity.” 

Sophia snorted. 

“She’s moving here,” Sophia said. “In a week or two, so I thought I’d get you two acqu– acqui– get you two to meet and become friends.” 

“What school are you going to be attending?” Taylor asked. “Because if it’s Winslow, I have to tell you, please don’t do that to yourself.” 

“I’m a bit older than you two, nearly out of school,” she said. “My last semester’s at Arcadia.” 

“Bless your soul. I wish I could go there, but according to my shrink, I’m supposed to keep a familiar environment.” 

“I feel you,” Lily said, nodding. “My shrink was against me moving here, too.” 

Taylor laughed. Sophia and Lily joined in. 

### 

Taylor had enjoyed her day immensely. Unfortunately, nothing good could last forever. The moment she stepped into her home, she could see her mother sitting at the dining table. Taylor’s pills were in front of her. Not the bottle where the pills were held, but every single pill, neatly arranged in lines of five. 

Taylor could immediately tell she’d messed up. There were supposed to be fifteen pills there after five days of taking two pills each. Twenty-five were on the table. 

“I counted them,” her mom said. Her voice was soft, like usual when she talked to Taylor. She didn’t want to sound overbearing, or angry, or worried. Instead, she would sound encouraging and friendly at all times, trying to make sure her daughter would never be upset at her. 

Raynare’s whispers about how she was faking it were in her ears at all times. But not this time. This time, Raynare was quiet, watching the scene with pointed interest. 

“The doctor told me it was a possibility. I didn’t want to believe her, I wanted to trust you.” 

Taylor grimaced. Calling it accusatory would be an insult to accusers. Sitting down in front of her mother, Taylor sighed. 

“I’m sorry,” Taylor said. “But… I just couldn’t take it anymore. Year after year of these pills that did nothing to help, and now I’m doing better than ever.” 

“Taylor,” her mom looked up. Her eyes were red and puffy. She looked visibly upset. Not angry. Hurt and disappointed. Taylor felt a pang of guilt. Raynare was nowhere to be seen. “You can’t hide these things from me. We’re supposed to be family.” 

“I know,” Taylor said. “And I’m sorry. But…” 

“No buts. The doctor prescribed these to help you, all you had to do was take them and—” 

“And what?” Taylor asked, frowning .”Feel even more miserable? Lose more weight when I can’t eat for three days straight? I’m already as thin as a stick, look at me. Did I look happy?” 

Her mother looked away, unable to meet her gaze. 

Taylor stood up. “Look at me!” 

Her mother looked. 

The small scars over Taylor’s arms where the girl had dug her nails in when she was younger, trying to use pain to escape the nightmares. The thin fingers. The clothes that even at their smallest sizes looked way too large, skirt-and-blouse hanging loosely like dresses. 

The bags under Taylor’s eyes from sleepless nights beyond countings. 

“All I ever wanted was the best for you. You know that, Taylor.” 

“I know,” Taylor said. “But what you think is best for me, hell, what Dr. Richards things is best for me...it’s not. It never has been. For once in my life I feel like the weight is off my shoulders.” 

“But, the hallucinations—” 

“She was never gone,” Taylor said. “I lied. Even with the pills, even when I kept telling myself she wasn’t real, she was never—” 

“It,” her mom quickly said. Her voice was rising slightly. “It’s an ‘it’. Don’t call it a ‘she’.” 

“Tell me,” Taylor said. “What do you want me to do?” 

“Take your pills. Go to your appointments. Please.” 

“I won’t take them,” Taylor said. “I’ll still see Richards, but I don’t think the pills are helping.” 

“Taylor, _please_ ,” Annette said. Taylor clenched her fist over the top of the table. “Please, listen to me.” 

“Why?” Taylor asked. “Is it because I’m more docile with them? Do you enjoy seeing me miserable rather than loud? Is the sound of my voice so grating to you?” 

“That’s not it, you know that—” 

“Then why are you so insistent that I take these?” Taylor asked, swiping the pills off the table. Her mother jumped out of her seat, grabbing her wrist. “Tell me what you want from me!” 

“Why couldn’t you have been normal?” 

Taylor’s breath hitched. She took a step back as Annette’s hand let go of her wrist to put it over her mouth. As if she could take back the words that slipped out. The step caused her to stumble over the chair, falling onto the ground. 

Annette came around the table, but Taylor had already pushed off the ground and ran towards the door. She was out in seconds, sprinting down the darkened streets. 


	4. By His Grace

“We never live up to the expectations of our parents, do we?” Raynare asked. Taylor groaned, an arm over her eyes. She was lying on the floor in Sophia’s room. It hadn’t taken much convincing to let Taylor stay—Sophia was a good friend like that. 

“I’d like to remind you that you’re the reason my parents think I’m insane,” Taylor said. Raynare giggled. A melody so harmonious it made Taylor’s skin crawl. “I don’t want to go back.” 

“I give you a day before the police knock on the door to _take_ you back,” Raynare said. “What was it the doctor said again? You’re a basket case, so your mother will have custody of you until she kicks the bucket.” 

“Not inaccurate,” Taylor said. She was technically not capable of taking care of herself, according to the doctor. And without her approval, there was a good chance Taylor would be forced to go back home, perhaps even back to the asylum she had spent a few weeks in. 

At this point, the funny farm sounded better than home. 

“You think if I kill someone, they’ll lock me up away from her?” 

“You don’t have it in you.” 

Taylor sighed. Again, not inaccurate. Lifting her arm off her face when the door opened, Taylor watched Sophia walk in with damp hair and pajamas on. 

“You almost look like a respectable young woman when you’re not scowling,” Taylor said. Sophia flipped her off. “I used to have a friend a long time ago, before I met you.” 

“Hm?” Sophia said, drying her hair. “Not anymore?” 

“Her parents found out I was a basket case so they forbade her from playing with me. I occasionally check up on her; last I heard she’s doing some amateur modelling for magazine covers.” 

“Well, her loss,” Sophia said, shrugging. “And just between us, that’s basically step one to starring in porn.” 

Taylor laughed. “She wasn’t that bad, but you know. Kids can be cruel. Her dad was my dad’s divorce lawyer.” 

“Dick move,” Sophia said. “You got any plans?” 

  
“No,” Taylor admitted. “I’ve… been dreading going back home. I don’t want to. I know I’ll have to eventually. But you know, it’s kind of a thing.” 

“I’m fine with you staying here but I’m pretty sure the cops are gonna show up sooner rather than later.” 

“Child protective services?” 

“You’re verifiably insane, you could be making things up and they never do anything until the kid’s already dead.” 

Taylor frowned. Emotional abuse wasn’t exactly high on the list of things to bother with for those assholes. Sophia was right. 

“I don’t want to see your mom’s face when the cops show up,” Taylor said. “You already got a juvie thing, don’t you?” 

“Bit more serious than the regular juvie thing, but yeahhhh, let's try to avoid that. Any plans for tomorrow?” 

“Not really,” Taylor said. “I’m kind of free the entire day.” 

“Nah, we’ll go to school.” Sophia sounded surprisingly responsible. “You need something to distract you. We can meet up with Lily after class then, have some fun before your mom comes knocking.” 

“What if she’s at school waiting for me?” 

“She won’t, she’ll think what you’re thinking and look everywhere else. I know your mom—she’ll wait until the last second to call the police because she doesn’t like airing her dirty laundry to the neighbors.” 

Taylor pursed her lips. “Alright. But you’re paying, I have no cash on me.” 

### 

Nightmares plagued her. 

Taylor couldn’t breathe. She could barely see, as if she were staring through smoke or oil-slick water. A man, beautiful as hope, with massive white wings, so many and so bright that they blurred into a halo of sunfire around his body, was dragging a woman by the throat. She thrashed and struggled, feet scrabbling uselessly against the sky, but it mattered not—the perfect man held her in his perfect grip and her efforts moved him to nothing but a contemptuous frown. 

His face hardened further as he drew a sword like someone had honed the Moon to killing. But each cut was gentle. Kind, even, like she was a wounded animal too far gone to save. Her wings, charred monoliths of sin-black feathers and corrupted light, fell away with every stroke, disintegrating into the ether. One, two, thr— 

Taylor woke to the woman’s scream. 

The last thing she remembered was falling, dark hair spilling like ink. 

### 

Taylor rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to go to school; it just increased the chances of her mother finding her. But she also couldn’t just skip after she’d told Sophia’s mom that she was staying for a sleepover. Sophia had dragged her along, so that was what she got. 

Her eyes were having trouble focusing. She could feel tears well up in them, a soft sheen blurring her vision as she thought of the consequences. Something had to happen, and she didn’t have the guts to do it. 

She rubbed her eyes again. They were starting to itch already. Wiping the tears away, she looked around for Sophia’s classroom. Maybe talk it out with her. See how things go— 

She ran into someone. Both of them stumbled onto their asses. Taylor stood quickly, holding her hand forward. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” 

The boy took her hand. He had a hoodie on, his face almost hidden by it, but she recognized it. Despite the greasy, long hair that ran down his face, he was clearly Greg. Greg, who she had torn into so badly with her words six months ago that he had quit school completely and hadn’t been seen since then. 

Raynare was floating above them, grinning at the boy. Taylor shook her head. She pulled him up. 

“H-hey?” Taylor tried. He didn’t respond, instead staring at her with a kind of intensity that made her uncomfortable. “I’m… sorry?” 

That made him react. His eyes widened, then he looked away. People had gathered near, watching the scene. Waiting hungrily for the next piece of drama, she could tell. But without the meds, Raynare wasn’t forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to. 

“I was having a really rough time back then, and I took it out on you,” Taylor said. “I was being unfair to you, and my words were too harsh. You don’t have to accept my apology, I’m not looking to make excuses… I’m just… sorry.” 

“I’m sorry, too,” he said. Taylor blinked. She saw the glint of metal a second before he stepped forward. She tried to step back, but the large kitchen knife had already found its target. He’d likely aimed at her belly, but her amateurish attempt to get away threw him off, and it slipped deep between her ribs. She stumbled onto her back, the knife digging even deeper. 

Pain exploded in her chest. She screamed. Loudly. He pulled the knife out, but when he went for another stab, three boys pulled him off her. Too late. The damage was done. Her fingers clenched over the wound, but her hoodie was wet with blood already. 

Sound faded. Raynare floated above her, her expression caught between fury and sadness. 

Taylor took a deep breath, a little surprised she could breathe at all. It was as if time had stopped for them. 

“Hey, God, are you there?” Taylor asked. She didn’t know if she spoke the words or thought them. Everything hurt. “It’s me again, I—I think I got your message. Took it right to the heart.” 

God didn’t answer. Raynare drifted down, her head resting on Taylor’s chest. One of her hands held Taylor’s, right over the hole in her chest. The other cupped her cheek. She almost thought she could feel them. 

Taylor could see Sophia there, shoving through the crowd. Her best friend was crying. Screaming her name. She couldn’t hear her, but she knew. 

“Taylor,” Raynare said. “I can save you.” 

Taylor frowned. When she spoke, it was a whisper. She had no energy left to shout. “It is by His Grace that we enter Heaven.” 

“What has He ever done for you?” Raynare asked. “He bound us together for a reason, whether to torment you or me—is that graceful? Is that merciful? I Fell, Taylor. Fall with me.” 

“It his by His Mercy that we receive Judgement,” Taylor continued, repeating the pastor’s words. “I want peace, Raynare. Let me go.” 

“I won’t,” Raynare said, holding her tighter. Taylor could feel it. For once, the warmth, the pressure of Raynare’s arms. “I won’t let you go. I love you. I love you too much to let you die. I love you too much to leave you.” 

Taylor untangled their fingers and lifted her bloodied hand to Raynare’s head, the fresh blood drenching her black hair. 

“Please,” Raynare begged, her voice cracking. Desperation broke her beauty until she was just a girl, scared and lonely. The way Taylor so often felt. “I’m nobody anymore; my wings, my family, my home, they were all taken from me. You’re all I have left. Please don’t leave me.” 

Taylor faltered. Not because of the torment in the voice of the oft-abusive angel, no—she was not that far lost. It was the tears in Sophia’s eyes. The image of her mother standing over her grave after the last words they had spoken to each other. 

Raynare whispered something in her ear. Time had started moving again; the rush of blood, the headache, the screams, the shouts, the tears, the pain. She couldn’t hear Raynare’s voice. 

Light exploded off her. Everyone was blasted back into a wall. 

Slowly, Taylor felt something rip itself out of her back. Feathers, each like a tiny knife cutting through her skin as they plunged into reality. A thousand shards of fractured light created something greater. Two wings held her aloft, spreading from her shoulders. 

Others fell to the ground, sliced cleanly away. 

Taylor studied her hand, still lifted to touch a Raynare who was no longer there. A lack of blood gave her a moment’s pause. Her eyes found Greg, staring at her with eyes wide with fear. 

Taylor’s eyes were much the same. Looking around in fright, she found Sophia. Sophia mouthed something, but Taylor had to get out. The pool of blood on the ground, the knife that had been thrown aside. Taylor’s breath quickened. 

She flew through the window, leaving shattered glass and feathers behind. 

### 

A man stood on the roof of a house, staring into the sunlit sky of a pleasant afternoon. Where others saw nothing but clouds, he could see the stars hiding behind them. Hear the music they spun through the emptiness. Today, it was a cut-off crescendo. A mockery of a melody he hadn’t heard for years.The stuttering song of negative space. 

“Sir,” another man said, looking up at him from the ground, “is something the matter? Did he Wake?” 

“Not him. Another. Broken, crippled, but I still remember the sound. I wonder—who will be her Abel this time? Whose name does she bear, as Cain bore his curse?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

The man smiled. “It doesn’t matter. Just thinking of old times and older crimes.” 

Six black wings exploded outwards from his back, unfurling like an army’s banners, and he rose off the ground. 

“I’ll be taking a leave of absence. Please handle our affairs until my return.” 

“As you wish, sir.” 

He launched himself into the sky and was gone. 


	5. Arc 2: Love - Sworn to the Stars

Taylor woke up, heaving for air. Her hand found her chest again. The hole in her hoodie and the dried blood made it clear that it hadn’t been a nightmare. No, the true nightmare was that everything was real. 

As were the wings on her back. They looked exactly like Raynare’s, every feather sleek as obsidian. She sat up, looking around. The abandoned warehouse she had fled to was spartan, the ground was hard and cold, but these things sprouting out of her skin kept her warm, wrapped around her body in a parodic embrace. 

Yet, somehow, a cold shiver ran down her spine—as if something was missing. An emptiness she had never felt before. 

There were bloodied feathers on the ground where she had slept. Touching her back, she found more holes than there should be. The wings had been kind enough to not rip apart her clothes completely, but not kind enough to leave them wholly undamaged. 

Had she gotten powers? 

Was she a parahuman now? 

Taylor’s thoughts were disjointed. It was the haze she knew from being on her medication, but coming at her from a different angle. Where before everything had been dull and gray, washed-out like the sky after rain, now it was _bright_. Her thoughts overlapped, turning into a crescendo of pain in her forehead. 

Taylor punched a wall. It dented outwards, the metal of the shoddily made warehouse creaking and screeching at her. The thoughts stopped. Her hand didn’t hurt. 

“Raynare,” Taylor said. No answer. “Raynare!” 

In the corner of her eyes, the angel was dancing and laughing. Whenever Taylor looked, she was gone. Taylor grabbed her head. She’d fallen for it. She’d been ready to finally move on, and in that last second where she would have been freed, she’d fallen. 

If her insanity had manifested to give her powers, that’d have been one thing. But everything about her screamed ‘no’. This wasn’t parahuman at all. It was inhuman. _She_ was inhuman. Something in her knew it. 

Her wings spread with the sound of thunder, feathers fluttering around her. 

It was dark outside. Perfect to find a place to stay. Sophia? People would expect her there. Lily hadn’t moved to Brockton yet, and ‘hide my weird friend until we figure out what to do with her wings’ sounded like it went a bit over the limits of their relationship. 

She couldn’t go back home. Her options started to decrease step by step. The PRT? Underage—they’d have to contact her mother. 

Taylor left the warehouse, taking to the skies. It was weird. The wings felt like they had always been a part of her. Flying was a non-issue. If she wasn’t an emotional wreck right now, she might have appreciated the sight of the brightly lit city below her. 

With one motion, she was diving towards her destination. A small church downtown. It was a leap of faith. Taylor had told the doctor that she knew the church and the pastor, which meant the police might knock on his door as well, but nothing about the man gave her the impression that he’d sell her out unless she was a danger to someone else. 

Unlike Sophia’s mom, who had always been suspicious of her. 

Taylor all but crashed into the door, falling into it as it opened easily. Apparently the pastor was trusting enough to not lock the door at night, which was fortunate. 

Unfortunately, rather than have a night to sleep through the headache, she immediately came face to face with the man himself. 

Pastor Robinson, to his credit, did not immediately throw holy water and crosses at her. He blinked, dropping the cup of tea he was holding. The shards of glass spread, the hot liquid splashing across his shoes. 

“Taylor?” he asked. Taylor nodded. “What happened to you?” 

“I don’t know,” Taylor said, her voice cracked. She felt like she was about to cry. 

_But crying was weakness_. Taylor shook her head. 

“Let me call an ambulance—” 

“No!” Taylor said, her voice cracking. Her wings spread reflexively. Thunder rolled through the hall. “No ambulance, not my mother, I-I can’t go back. Not like this. They’ll lock me up again, I ca—I can’t go back there.” 

“Taylor,” he said, reaching out to her. “It’s fine. I won’t call anyone, but please, let me help you.” 

“I just need a place to stay,” Taylor said, taking a step back. “I don’t want you to get in trouble for hiding me, I’ll figure something out and go.” 

Taylor could feel her mind scream. She flew up, onto the ceiling of the church, her fingers digging deeply into the stone and leaving her clinging. The door of the church opened after three loud knocks. Two policemen. 

“Excuse us,” one of them said. “We know it’s late, but—sorry, is something the matter?” 

Robinson shook his head, picking up the largest pieces of glass with his hands. “I’m afraid I’m getting rather clumsy in my middle age. Please, come in. What can I do for you gentlemen?” 

The men stepped forward, helping him with some of the shards. “There’s a runaway girl. We’ve heard from her mother that she has visited this church in the past and we were wondering if you knew anything. Does the name Taylor Hebert ring a bell?” 

That fucking snitch. Weren’t therapists supposed to keep _some_ things confidential? Or was she so far gone in their mind that her privacy could be violated this thoroughly? Her fingers cracked some of the stone. Dust fell. They didn’t notice. 

“I know her, yes,” the pastor said. “She seemed rather troubled, but she has been doing much better after coming to service almost every day. Is everything alright?” 

“There has been an incident at her school, and we’re afraid she might be in danger,” the first officer said. The second one took all the shards and moved towards a trash can that stood near the entrance. “If you hear anything from her, please call this number.” 

“Of course,” Robinson said, taking a card from the officer. “Have a pleasant night, gentlemen. I hope you find her soon.” 

They bid farewell to each other. When the policemen left, Taylor waited for a bit before dropping down again. The pastor didn’t flinch this time, but he didn’t look very pleased with himself. 

“I’m sorry,” Taylor said. “I made you lie for me, I’m not…” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “What happened?” 

“I’m… I’m insane,” Taylor said. She kept talking. Everything about herself, as if it would solve everything. From her hallucinations since she has been a child, her parent’s divorce, the therapist, the meds, _Greg_. The pastor listened as he wiped up the tea, nodding along. 

“This boy who stabbed you, are you angry?” 

“Should I be?” Taylor asked. “I’m… responsible for how he turned out, in a way. His reaction might have been too much, but I’m _—_ ” _Like her now._ ” _—_ I drove him there.” 

“You should be, yes,” the pastor said. “Because if you lack anger towards someone who has hurt you in such a way, you prove to yourself that you don’t care about the pain inflicted to you. But if you have it in your heart to forgive his faults, then no, you are not a monster. You’re more human than most.” 

“Empty words,” Taylor said, gritting her teeth. She shook her head again. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry—” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, child,” Robinson said. “The world has handed you a harsh trial to overcome, but you have striven to be good. Does that count for nothing?” 

“I’m not that innocent,” Taylor said. _Pleaded_. His words, for some reason, made her angry. This strange need to have someone tell her that she was in the wrong, that everything she had done was sinful and evil. It gnawed on her. This _forgiveness_. “I wanted to die when he stabbed me. I could have finally gone and found my judgement. How are you defending this, man of God? How are you defending someone who _Fell_?” 

“Because nobody is beyond forgiveness,” Robinson said. For the first time, his voice was harsh. Loud. Almost angry, if not at her, then _for_ her. “If you were looking for someone to tell you that you’re a lost cause, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong church.” 

It was as if lightning had struck her. She could see it. The man was not just speaking from his heart, he was speaking from experience. 

“Angels and demons are real,” Taylor said. He raised an eyebrow. “But you know that not because you’re a priest. You’re faithful, sure, but… you _know_.” 

He knew as she did. Because he had seen proof. Anyone else would have dismissed wings as a sign of parahumanity, but he could tell there was more to it. 

“Yes,” he said. “Which is why I needed to hear from you to confirm it. I admit, your case is… strange, to say the least. I knew a woman once, Fallen, beautiful as the sunset. Perhaps it was His will that you came here instead of any other church, to find guidance that only I can give.” 

“Something about mysterious ways, huh?” Taylor said, trying hard not to scoff at the notion. Maybe there was more of Raynare left in her than she wanted to admit. “I’ll take whatever you can get me.” 

“She had a husband, we are old friends,” he said. “If someone can help you, it’s him. But you need to find a way to hide the wings, first.” 

“I don’t think I can,” Taylor said. Robinson shook his head. 

“You can,” he said. “She was able to, and you’re truly one of them now. Please, focus.” 

She did. Closing her eyes, ignoring Raynare’s struck-bell laughter in the back of her mind. Her mind was still a swirling pit, full of emotions she couldn’t sort out, thoughts that flared up and went their merry ways. 

The emptiness in her lower back, as if she had lost more than just blood. 

With a sound somewhere between slurping and ripping, the wings vanished into her back. Taylor fell forward. The pastor caught her, helping her keep her footing. 

“Why are you helping me?” Taylor asked him. He merely smiled. 

“Because someone once helped me when I was in a bad spot,” he said. “And I’ll pay it forward until the day I die.” 

#### 

A phone rang. It kept ringing, despite how late it was. A young woman stepped out of her room, picked up the phone, and immediately hung up. The moment she turned to go back into her room, it rang again. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she looked at the number. It was a name her dad had saved. “Robinson?” 

The phone kept ringing. Sighing, she picked up. 

“Hello?” she said. “Do you have any idea how late it is?” 

“A bit too late for a house call, I admit,” the man said. “But this is an emergency. Could you please get your father on the line?” 

She sighed, taking the phone with her. Opening the door to her dad’s bedroom, she chucked the phone over to his bed and hit him square in the stomach. He woke with a start, about to get angry. 

“Some guy named Robinson,” she said. “I’m going back to bed.” 

Her dad put the phone up to his ear. “If the world isn’t on fire, why are you calling me?” 

“Remember that favor you owe me?” Robinson asked. The man pursed his lips. One favor, and one favor only. “Let’s just say the world might soon be on fire.” 

“What happened?” 

“You heard about the stabbing case in the school today?” 

“A student went crazy at a girl who’d bullied him? The usual fare of ‘how could this have been avoided’ and a careful effort to foreground how poor and misguided he was?” 

“That’s the one. The girl from the stabbing is Fallen. I confirmed it myself. She was human before, and now she isn’t.” 

“Explain when I’m there.” He immediately stood up, throwing off the sheets. Finding his pants, he shoved his legs into them and all but rushed out of the room. His daughter stood in the kitchen, watching as he laced up his boots, a mug held up to her lips. “Amelia, I’m going to be out for a bit. If anyone knocks—” 

“Don’t open, and if they keep knocking, call you. I know.” 

The man nodded, smiling. Throwing a jacket over his shoulders, he left. “Good night.” 


	6. Sworn to the Sword

Taylor was sitting on one of the pews. Praying. Or trying to, anyway. It was weird to her, actually bowing her head and trying to reach out to some semblance of divinity. Pain shot through her head every time, but she persisted. When the door to the church opened again, she was already on the ground, hiding behind her seat. 

She could barely see anything from under the pews except the boots of whoever had just stepped in. Well-made boots at that, hardy brown leather. Like the pair she remembered her father wishing he could afford, long, long ago. There was a rustle of clothing as Pastor Robinson rose to greet them. 

  
“My old friend,” the man said, because his voice made it clear he was probably a man. It was deep and imposing, and with just a slight hint of tiredness. “I’m afraid we’ll have to skip the pleasantries. Where is the girl?” 

Taylor’s breath hitched for a moment. It was Robison’s laughter that made her relax. 

“You spooked her, I’m afraid,” the pastor said. “Please, come in. We have so much to catch up on.” 

The man sighed, closing the doors behind him as he stepped in. Taylor slowly rose from her hunched over position to get a good look at him. He was old, maybe slightly older than her mother. His disheveled brown hair had streaks of gray in it, as did his well-kept beard. Judging from the shadows under his eyes, he had just woken up before driving here. 

When his eyes found her, she reflexively took a step back. 

“I apologize,” he said, inclining his head towards her. “I came here on the call of my old friend—let me assure you that I mean you no harm.” 

Taylor stepped out from the pews, measuring the man up. The man’s bulky jacket hid his upper body well enough, but something about him chilled her spine. She thought it was the way he stood, almost impatient, like he was tired of the world and waiting for it to get the message. People like that were dangerous. 

No, not dangerous. Dangerous implied that he wanted to hurt her. ‘Powerful’ might have been more accurate. 

“Allow me to introduce you,” Robinson said. “This is Mr. Lavere, no first name. Lavere, this is Taylor Hebert.” 

“A pleasure to meet you.” Mr. Lavere’s voice was rough with sleep, but commanding all the same. “Though I am sure you’d have prefered different circumstances.” 

“Yeah,” Taylor said, rubbing her arm and looking away. “You’re… what exactly? You don’t _smell_ human.” 

Smell. It had taken the presence of Mr. Lavere to really confirm what she’d suspected. Her vision had improved; regardless of whether she was wearing her glasses or not, she could see perfectly. Even from such distance, she had seen each gray hair on his head. Her nose, too—in the church, every breath carried with it aged wood, the tea the pastor had spilled an hour ago, and from Mr. Lavere...something that was too old to be human. It was hard to describe. Kind of like a fire, but the smoke was wrong. 

“That’s, ah.” Mr. Lavere seemed to be taken aback for a moment. “I admit, I had my doubts, but if you can sense it, I suppose Robinson really checked. Could you show me your wings?” 

Taylor frowned, but Robinson’s smile made her relax. She focused on her back. 

Squelching and ripping. Her clothes took a bit more of a beating. 

Two wings exploded out of her back. Four more were lying on the ground. 

Mr. Lavere blinked. “That’s not supposed to happen.” 

“Gee,” Taylor said, crossing her arms. Her living wings vanished again. The others remained, silent on the floor. “I’m sorry I don’t live up to your expectations—you were the one who wanted to see them. I’m all—” 

“Dear friend.” Robinson stepped forward, lifting up one of the dead wings on the ground. Taylor grimaced. “I don’t suppose angels shed wings?” 

Mr. Lavere shook his head. “I’m afraid not, but that doesn’t matter. I do have one last thing to check.” 

He reached around his neck, retrieving a small ring from underneath his shirt. Holding it in his fist, spoke a prayer, too softly for her to hear the words, and pressed the ring to his lips. 

The ring exploded into blinding light, which resolved into the form of a long, two-handed sword. The sword’s single cutting edge swept smoothly up to its tip, and its spine was a mess of jagged serrations. One thing, however, was out of place. Right above the hilt, between it and the back of the blade, was a red crystal. Taylor could see inside it—feathers. Stark black feathers, like someone had dipped a raven’s feathers in charcoal. 

Taylor immediately released her wings, flying backwards until she hit the wall. 

Mr. Lavere didn’t seem bothered by her reaction. He lifted the sword in one hand with seemingly little effort and hurled it across the room. It sank point-first into the wall, far away enough from Taylor to make it clear that he wasn’t going to hit her with it. Robinson’s protest was weak, almost unheard. 

“My wife gave me this sword,” Mr. Lavere said, his voice soft and calm. “Forged in heaven, adorned by her feathers. Humans can’t touch it, but you should be able to remove it from the wall without issue. Do that, and I’ll help you. I just have to be sure.” 

Taylor glared at him, seeking answers in his expression. He didn’t look deceitful, and the pastor trusted him, but then again… the people who didn’t look like it seemed to be the ones who could most easily stab you in the back. 

Taylor took steps to the side, watching him. She could see Robinson pick up the rest of her wings and move towards her to clean up the other mess she’d made at the wall. Gripping the hilt of the sword, she pulled. 

It came out without issue, easy as breathing. 

The sword felt… strong. Warm. Like she was holding the sun. Fire at the tip of her fingers. She swung it once, watching it ignite into flames. 

She threw it back to Mr. Lavere. It spun, trailing fire, and by the time his hand snatched it from the air, it was once again a simple ring. 

“Does that mean I’m not human anymore?” she asked. Mr. Lavere shrugged. 

“It could,” he said. “Your wings look Fallen, you can wield this sword without issue and ignite it without being told it could do such a thing. But everything else about you is… normal.” 

Taylor couldn’t deny that. She was plain. She had none of Raynare’s grace and beauty, especially not in appearance. 

“Burn them,” Mr. Lavere told Robinson. Taylor’s wings reflexively retreated into her back. “If anyone finds those here, we’ll have exorcists knocking on the door. You, Ms. Hebert. Come with me.” 

Taylor still felt everything about the man was suspicious. Robinson muttered something crude a pastor probably shouldn’t have said as Mr. Lavere left. 

“Can I really trust him?” she asked. Robinson nodded. 

“He has a daughter who’s a bit older than you—she’s hunted because of her mother. In a way, I think he sees her in you and can’t just leave you alone.” 

“I don’t like it,” Taylor said, shaking her head. Her hair, somewhere between hickory and ebony, rustled around her neck. “He’s… polite, but somehow really, really rude at the same time. What is he?” 

“You’ll have to ask him, but if you really don’t want to go anywhere else, go with him. In your eyes, he might not be the best option, but right now he’s the only one. You’ll be safe. If nothing else, you’ll be safe.” 

Taylor sighed, helping Robinson carry the wings out of the church towards a dumpster. Mr. Lavere’s car, a nice and expensive looking one, was sitting at the front of the church, its engine idling. 

He waved her over. Swallowing, she turned to Robinson. “Thank you.”  


Robinson smiled at her. 

Turning away, he picked up a can of gasoline and poured it all into the dumpster before setting it all aflame with a match. She squinted for a moment; Robinson hadn’t had that gas can a moment ago, had he? 

Taylor decided not to ask. 

As she walked over to the car, Mr. Lavere leaned over to open the door to the passenger seat. She got in, putting on the seatbelt. Not caring much for safety, he settled himself back down behind the steering wheel and immediately put his foot down on the gas pedal, hitting the streets within seconds. 

“I apologize,” he said. “I’ve had a bit of a rough night, and I should not have presented myself in such a state. Did Robinson tell you about me?” 

“Your wife is Fallen, or was?” Taylor asked. The man shook his head. It didn’t matter, so Taylor moved on. “And your daughter is… hunted?” 

The man narrowed his eyes. “Indeed. For no fault of her own, as punishment for her parent’s sins. In a way, her situation is not too different to yours, it seems. I have never heard of a human turning Fallen, but…” 

“Yeah, I get it,” Taylor said, looking out to the street. “She doesn’t know, does she?”  


“No,” he said, shaking his head. "One day, I’ll have to pass this sword onto her. I won’t be able to keep her from the pain of knowing forever, but until that day, please do not say anything to her.” 

Taylor wasn’t going to mess with a man who’d offered to be her benefactor and carried a sword she’d fled on sight without even knowing _why_ , so that was a simple enough request. 

When they reached a cross-section, stopping at a red light despite no other car being in sight, something happened. 

Something _bright_. Like a falling star, a light flashed, and for one second, daylight shone on the city. A man stood in the middle of the road, blocking their way. From his back spread six wings in a familiar shade of black. He smelled like stardust and soot. 

“Stay in here,” Mr. Lavere ordered. He stepped out, his hand near his chest. “Starsworn.” 

“Ah,” the angel said. “I have become so famous already? Do you have a picture of me for an autograph?” 

His hair was black, running down his face and back not unlike Mr. Lavere’s. His expression, however, was less schooled. Twisted into a grin,his eyes were so bright she couldn’t see the whites or the pupils. Just the heartblood red. 

Taylor stepped out of the car. Mr. Lavere turned around, frowning. 

“I said stay in!” 

“Kokabiel!” Taylor shouted. The name spilled over her lips before her mind had the time to register how she knew it. Stardust and soot. Stardust and soot. 

Stardust, soot, and blood. 

The man laughed out loud, bright and joyful, his smile almost _warm_ and welcoming. “You recognize me. What should I call you these days? Raynare, was it? I’ve come to pick you up!” 

“I’m not—” Taylor got out. The man smiled. 

“What a pitiful shell you wear,” he said. “Or perhaps I’m a bit spoiled. This one was very willing to hand over his body. Yours seems to be a bit—” 

“I’m not Raynare,” Taylor insisted. Mr. Lavere was watching the exchange with a critical eye, one hand resting on his neck. Kokabiel, Starsworn, whatever his name was, kept speaking, not paying any heed to her. 

“Azazel will awaken soon,” he continued. Steel over steel. “Join me, Raynare—we will take the fight back to Heaven, and claim what is ours—” 

Taylor’s expression twisted into something fierce without knowing why. Kokabiel smiled widely, happy with the reaction. She growled, her eyebrows twitching. 

“When did your love for humanity grow into such contempt?” Taylor asked. Who was she to ask that question? She was not Raynare. She was Taylor. Taylor. _Taylor_. “I am _not_ Raynare!” 

She yelled the last sentence with such force that the echoes alone cracked the asphalt beneath their feet. Kokabiel lost his smile. 

“I see,” he said. “What a pity—even after so long, she did not lose the love for mankind that cast her from Heaven. She gave of herself, rather than take for herself. Well, if you’re of no use to me, then you’re disposable.” 

That was when Mr. Lavere made his move, stepping calmly between Taylor and Kokabiel. His hand was no longer on his neck; instead, it held that starfire blade, and his stance was such that his whole body was its edge. In his grip, the sword ignited into white flames. 

“You don’t want this,” Mr. Lavere said, lifting one end of his jacket, his voice less an order than a promise. Something jingled. Metal clashing against itself. “Not tonight.” 

Whatever it was, something flashed in Kokabiel’s eyes. Fear, perhaps. Contempt, in a way. Appreciation, in another. 

The angel didn’t grace him with an answer. He turned on his heel, sweeping his wings, and was gone. 

  
“That was reckless,” Mr. Lavere said. Taylor nodded. “Are you alright?” 

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” Taylor admitted. “I’m afraid of what will happen when I figure it out.” 

“Not all Fallen are like him,” he said. Taylor nodded. For one to fall in love with a human and end up pregnant… his wife must have been a massive improvement on Raynare and Kokabiel. “You need a warm meal and some clothes. Let’s go.” 

Not a word was spoken in the car afterward. 

Taylor was left to her thoughts. Kokabiel’s words had brought something to her mind. Raynare lied. A lot. That was who she was—she twisted facts to suit her idea of what was proper. She was too prideful to admit any wrongdoing, so any lies that were caught were met with more lies. 

‘These days’ he’d said. Had Raynare not always been Raynare? Were angels not absolute? 

Could the world stop lying to her for one moment? 

Taylor looked over at Mr. Lavere, catching a glimpse at what he hid under his jacket. Crosses. Dozens of them, glinting every time a streetlight passed overhead. Each one bore a name, like a dog tag. 

#### 

Sophia sat in a comfortable chair, across from the PRT Director in his office. 

“You’re friends, I get that,” the director said. He was narrow and bald, like a human pencil with an eraser on top.“You don’t want to sell her out, but you’re not helping her by hiding where she is. The Wards program is—” 

“If you bring in her mother and ask her, ‘Hey, can we get your daughter into the Wards program’, you’re delusional if you expect a yes,” Sophia said. He didn’t seem bothered by the interruption. He didn’t seem bothered by a lot, usually. “With all due respect, Director Calvert, I’m not stupid. I know you already have all the resources to pull all her information, and no, I didn’t set up some secret off-the-books hiding spot. I’m barely sixteen.” 

“Of course,” Director Calvert said, smiling. “It’s fine. Thank you for your cooperation. If you do hear anything—” 

“I’ll tell you, sure,” Sophia said. “Her entire life, she thought she was bonkers. Everyone thought she was bonkers. Maybe she was just a parahuman all long. If you end up putting her in the funny farm after this, you’ll regret it.” 

“I assure you, we have no intentions of doing that,” he said. “That will be all. Don’t let me detain you, Ms. Hess.” 


	7. Sworn to the Shadows

Taylor woke up to yet another unfamiliar ceiling, regretting opening her eyes as a headache pulsed behind them. Last night was a haze, memories blurring together into a scrambled mess. Scrambled eggs. Her nose twitched at the smell. She made to shake her head, but thought better of it, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Where was she? 

The last thing she could remember was… stardust and soot. The image of Kokabiel flashed in her mind, and she snarled, her fists clenching involuntarily. A soft knock sounded at the door, and she looked up, fingers uncurling, managing to swing her legs off the bed before the door creaked open slowly. 

A girl stood there, the smell of scrambled eggs sweeping into the room around her. Freckles on her face, and hair exactly like Mr. Lavere’s, held up in a messy ponytail. She smelled distinctly not human. 

“Hey,” she said, looking around. “I mean, good morning. Dad told me to wake you up. You’re Taylor, right? I’m Amelia.” 

Taylor blinked. Of course, right. She must’ve fallen asleep in the car. She still had the same dirty clothes on. Amelia kindly didn’t mention the massive bloodstain around the hole in her hoodie. 

“Yes,” Taylor said. “Sorry, I’m… sorry.” 

Amelia merely smiled. It was eye-catching. She wasn’t beautiful—in the wrong light, quite far from it—but that smile still scraped across the edges of Taylor’s mind like a knife on broken glass. The inhumanity of it, obvious to her if no one else, ran cold fingers of recognition down her spine. Amelia took a step out of the room, pointing to her right. “The bathroom is down that way, last door on the right. I’ve put some clothes there that should fit you.” 

“Thank you,” Taylor said, not knowing what else there was to add. Amelia left, leaving her to her thoughts. Mr. Lavere and Robinson had both told her the other girl knew nothing of her mother. Nothing of her nature. Taylor wished it could’ve been that simple on her end. 

She moved to the bathroom. Her dirty clothes, the holes in them, the blood. She bundled them all up, making up her mind to ask Mr. Lavere where she could dispose of them. The shower was quick, unenjoyable. Regardless of how cold or hot she turned the water, she barely felt it. She _should_ have, but she just… didn’t care, right now. 

The clothes Amelia had picked out for her were—not her style, to put it politely. The shirt’s sleeves were too short. The pants were too short full stop. She took a look at her arms, tracing the small scars on them with her eyes. She knew Amelia and Mr. Lavere wouldn’t mention them. Didn’t stop her from feeling miserable about it. 

Walking towards the rather large mirror, she looked at herself in detail. The shirt hung around her as if it was a size too large. She was still too thin, underweight, her cheekbones much too prominent. Drab hair and drab eyes. 

It made her happy, in a way. This face was Taylor Hebert’s face. Not _hers_. Not Raynare’s. 

“Oh?” A puff of breath by her ear, a pair of pale, slender arms settling around her shoulders. Taylor blinked, turning around. It was Raynare, standing there, smiling widely. Her wings were gone, but it was undoubtedly her—arrogant hair, arrogant body, and an arrogant curl to her lips. “I heard you missed me, so I came back! Hi, honey!” 

With her came everything Taylor didn’t want to feel. Shame, for one, because of the relief. Disgust, first and foremost. Anger, last of all. She knocked the angel’s arms away, grabbing Raynare by the robes and lifting her up like a child might lift a doll. The angel didn’t try to dodge. She didn’t attempt to appear elsewhere. Taylor lifted her higher, _feeling_ her weight in her hands. 

“Who are you?” Taylor asked. Raynare’s already wide smile split into a snort. 

“I’ve told you, over and over again,” Raynare said, sounding smug. Taylor could see it. The light in her eyes that took over the sclera and the pupils. Not purple this time, as it so often seemed. Black. Like shadows and the space between stars. Taylor pressed her hands harder into Raynare’s shoulders and spun her around. The angel made no move to resist. 

She knew. Somehow, she had always known. The only times Raynare had ever let Taylor see her back was when she sat down, when she folded her wings in to cover her from shoulder to hip. The two wings that were ever-visible, ever-exaggerated by every motion Raynare made, had always distracted Taylor from the stumps. Four more holes in the robe, four more wings that were no longer there. 

And between them all, four more scars that looked older still. 

“Did I lie?” Raynare asked, turning back to look at Taylor. “I am who I am. Nothing can change that.” 

“How you Fell, _that_ was a lie,” Taylor said, spinning the angel around again, shifting her grip, a fist bunching up her robes beneath her neck. If Raynare was in discomfort, she didn’t show it. “Who you _are_ might be Raynare, but who _were_ you?” 

“Does it matter?” Raynare asked. Taylor snarled, shoving her back into the mirror with the crunch of bone on glass. “Oh my, were you always this rough, Taylor? If you were into play like this, I think we could’ve enjoyed our—” 

“Yes, it matters,” Taylor said, her voice rising. “It matters because you _lied_ to me!” 

As if a fist had struck it, the mirror splintered into pieces. Raynare looked taken aback. For one moment, the black faded. Taylor could see something _human_ in her eyes. But then she started to laugh, unapologetic as ever, and Taylor began to wonder if even that vulnerability had been a lie. 

Taylor dropped her, leaving her laughing on the tiles. 

“I know them,” Taylor said, her energy spent. How was she going to explain the mirror to Mr. Lavere? This was going to be awkward. They’d probably heard her shouting, too. “Kokabiel, Azazel, Baraqiel, Anane, all the Watchers. I can smell them in my memories, stardust and soot, steel over steel, thunder and tears, rain and regret…” 

Raynare’s laughter lost some of its luster, but the angel’s shaking didn’t stop as she spoke up again. “What do I smell like, then?” 

“Blood and betrayal,” Taylor said. Raynare’s laughter stuttered in her throat. “Fine, don’t tell me who you were, but stop lying to me, Raynare. Why did you Fall?” 

Raynare stopped smiling. 

“I once fell in love,” Raynare said. “A woman whose beauty could not be compared to anything. Not even me. And so, so much knowledge behind those eyes. She was a scholar first and foremost. I wanted her to know me. I wanted to know her, like she knew the world.” 

“No,” Taylor said, shaking her head. “That wasn’t what made you Fall. I can finally tell, I can feel it when you try to weasel your way out. Be honest with me.” 

Raynare looked almost proud. 

“I watched them,” Raynare continued. “The scientists, seeking knowledge that Heaven had declared forbidden. An Archangel sent me out to take care of it. He knew, I was certain. He knew I’d fallen for her, and wanted to see if I’d Fall for her too.” She shrugged. “I did.” 

“You protected her,” Taylor said. Raynare nodded. “All of them, not because you cared but because she would. And yet...” 

“I wasn’t alone, of course. Angels don’t do things by half measures. I was sent with a small group to make sure all the research was destroyed. Among them was an angel called Raynare. Recently promoted, my second in command for the mission. So young. So eager.” 

“You killed her?” 

“No.” Raynare shook her head. “I did far worse than that. I was a seraphim, then, still strong enough to stand between my lover and my cohort, to scar a line in the sand and dare them to cross it. Heaven might have understood if I’d done that. They respect honor if nothing else. 

“Instead, the night before the purge, I invited Raynare to my quarters. She might have thought I planned to kiss her. Angels can know love, even if they can’t know lust. I kissed her with a knife instead. Made ruin of her throat. A coward’s death by a coward’s hands.” 

She smiled, beautiful as heartbreak. 

“I was not the first to Fall. But as Lucifer was to Adam, I am to Cain. The first of Heaven to spill Heaven’s own blood. I didn’t start the war, but there are fools who like to think it was started in my name. As if martyring a traitor gave them the moral high ground. At least Azazel had more sense.” 

Taylor balled a fist. What a stupid reason. What a ridiculous prospect, to start a war over something as silly as… love. Who was she kidding? One look in Mr. Lavere’s eyes when he spoke about his daughter showed he’d have done the same. 

Heaven could burn if it meant keeping the one you loved safe. 

“Stripped of your title and wings, you took the name of the one you murdered?” Taylor asked. Raynare shrugged again, so obviously unconcerned Taylor knew it for a lie. 

“She… was a far better angel that me,” Raynare said. “When my dagger pierced her, her last words were not those of contempt. She said that she understood. It’s my way to honor her—whatever honor there is left in being me.” 

“And Kokabiel? How many wings did he lose?” 

“The severity of your crime mattered, in a way, but some were treated more leniently than others. Azazel lost none, Anane and Kokabiel lost four each, and Baraqiel was stripped of two. It was to be expected. We _lost_ that war.” 

“And you went down from six to two? I saw it, the man with the wings so radiant they could have been spun from gold—but he carved away four of yours, so why do you have eight wounds? Why do some look different?” 

“Ah, that’d be telling,” Raynare said. There was nothing human in her eyes, now. Or her voice. She’d recovered her particular irreverence, the one that always drove Taylor mad. “You’ll find out soon enough, I suppose. If you really want to know, why don’t you ask Kokabiel?” 

“You’re insane.” 

“Absolutely,” Raynare said, her smile returning. It cut across her face, exposing her perfect teeth. “But I already gave up everything I had left to bring you back from the brink. It’s a marvel I can speak at all. Maybe Raynare isn’t good anymore. I should pick a new name. How about we swap? In return, I’ll tell you how to stop shitting out wings like you had a Mexican breakfast.” 

“Fuck you,” Taylor said. Gingerly stepping over the shards of glass, Taylor left the bathroom. Amelia was standing nearby, looking at her strangely. “I… think I accidentally broke the mirror.” 

“It’s fine, happens all the time, I told him to get a less—sorry, are you alright? I heard you arguing with someone, but—” 

“Yeah, it’s… how much did your dad tell you?” 

“You’re in a bad spot and your family’s not the best place to stay right now,” Amelia said. “You look tired.” 

“I was talking to my mother,” Taylor said. “On my phone, sorry, she’s… not a good person.” 

Here she was, doing the exact same thing as Raynare. Lies over lies. Amelia accepted the answer without hesitation. “Breakfast’s ready, I’ll clean up the glass—” 

“No, please, let me do it,” Taylor said. “I’m intruding here, and just—” 

“Go eat,” Amelia all but ordered. Taylor relented at the look in her eyes, a curiously light shade of brown. “I mean it. My father wants to talk to you, and you’ve kept him waiting a bit longer than expected.” 

“Of course,” Taylor said, sighing. “I’m sorry, again.” Taylor stepped past the girl—a cursory glance into the guestroom she would be calling home for now revealed her phone lying on the bedside table. 

She grabbed it surreptitiously, hoping Amelia hadn’t noticed as she passed the room. 

#### 

Mr. Lavere looked much less intimidating in his neatly buttoned shirt—or, at least, he did until you realised that the ‘cool Dad’ style of his get-up did little to conceal the ‘bench-presses gangsters’ style of his muscles. 

“She’s back,” Taylor said. Mr. Lavere looked up from the paper, raising an eyebrow. “Raynare, she’s… it’s complicated. I thought the hallucinations would end now, she was gone for over a day, but now—” 

“One moment,” he said. Setting his paper down on the bright blue tablecloth, he picked up the knife he must have used to cut his toast and ran it against the pad of his thumb—the blade drew blood, which he used to quickly trace a circle on the table with his finger. A symbol appeared, lighting up for a moment and vanishing. “You can speak as much as you want now, my daughter won’t be able to hear us.” 

“I made a deal with her,” Taylor said. He nodded. “I didn’t want to. I wanted to die, but when I thought about my best friend, my mother, I couldn’t go through with it. She said she could save me.” 

“And you’re ashamed of that?” he asked. Taylor nodded. The man put down the knife, folding his arms. “The living have no right to envy the dead, Taylor Hebert. There is nothing wrong with wanting to live.” 

Just like with Robinson, she wavered at support where she had wanted scolding. Taylor sighed, her shoulders sagging. 

“You’re not the first person to make such a deal,” he said. “Neither am I. We both know we won’t be the last.” 

“You did…?” 

“I traded my name,” Mr. Lavere said. “For a body that can wield my wife’s sword. I wasn’t kidding when I said that a human cannot touch it. I became ‘less than human’ in exchange. I am ‘Mr. Lavere’ because Lavere was the surname my wife chose for herself when she decided to walk among us. I can never have a first name again.” 

“How interesting.” Taylor twitched when Raynare appeared at the table, sitting across her. The angel didn’t seem bothered by the earlier storytelling. “I know that deal. It’s a very common one in the Middle East, and I believe some of the Nordic states as well. Where did he find a Jinn in _America?_ ” 

“A Jinn?” Taylor asked, as much to Raynare as it was to Mr. Lavere. Whatever it took to shift her attention away from how, when she actually _focused_ on trying to imagine him with a first name, it kept spilling out of her thoughts like water. The man nodded, not bothered by the question. “Do you think I can trade my wings to one?” 

“Don’t be silly,” Raynare said. 

“No,” Mr. Lavere said at the same time. “Jinn are… of a similar origin to Angels, in a way. Born of fire rather than light, and wholly incompatible with your kind—by which I do not mean human.” 

Taylor glanced towards Raynare, who smiled. 

“And you don’t regret it?” Taylor asked. “A deal like that?” 

“You value your life,” he said. “I value the life of my daughter. If I had to burn down the gates of Heaven to protect her, I would without hesitation.” 

“Or kill dozens of exorcists,” Taylor said, remembering the dog-tag like crosses. Remembering Raynare’s story of blood and betrayal. The way it had sunken into her soul until Taylor could smell it just by breathing. 

“Or kill dozens of exorcists,” he confirmed. Not spoken in jest, or with any particular emotion. A fact, simply stated. “I’m not like Robinson. I don’t look for forgiveness, because I’m the kind of person who doesn’t deserve any.” 

“Then why are you so willing to help me?” Taylor asked. “You don’t seem like you want more attention on your life and your daughter.” 

“I don’t,” he said. “But where I lack that kind heart, my wife filled it out for me. If she was here, she would help you, and that is reason enough for me.” 

“Is she… gone?” 

“In a way,” he said. “She said that something was going to happen, something big, and she had to prepare. For our sake. For our daughter’s sake. She gave me her sword and left, and since then I’ve… taken care of Amelia.” 

Speak of the devil, or half-breed Fallen Angel as it were, the girl came around the corner. The symbol flared up again and vanished. Taylor nodded at Mr. Lavere, ignoring the way Raynare was eyeing him up like meat in plain view of his daughter. Thank God for small mercies. Ignoring the bolt of pain in her head, she grabbed a fork and dug in. 

Had food always been this good? 

#### 

“Mrs. Hebert—” 

“Crowley,” she interrupted. “I’m not married anymore.” 

The woman she’d interrupted nodded, leaning into the couch. “Ms. Crowley, your daughter’s in danger. More than that, she _is_ a danger to others in her current state. A newly triggered parahuman often has no control over their powers, many accidents happen within the first week of gaining them—” 

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Annette interrupted her again. “I need you to find my girl and bring her back to me. Safely.” 

“And that’s what we’re trying to do, ma’am,” a man said. He stood behind the couch, one hand on its back, looking around. Annette’s eyes were drawn to the glint at his cuffs: a small chain around his wrist, a smaller cross hanging off it. “I know you told the police everything you could, but as you know, the PRT and the police don’t always see eye to eye. If you could tell us anything more, we’re absolutely willing to bring our best investigators on the case.” 

Annette nodded slowly. She stood up, moving towards the kitchen. “It’s a lot. I’ll make some tea.” 

“That’d be lovely,” the woman said. Annette finished up quickly, and when she returned, bearing a tray, the man had taken a seat next to his partner. 

“Are you a faithful man, Mr…?” Annette asked the man. He was fiddling with the cross on his wrist. Hadn’t seem to notice he was, either, like it was just a reflex. 

“Noah,” he said. “And yes, ma’am, as I was raised to be.” 

“I see,” Annette said, staring into the cup on the table. Brown and murky, just like everything else. “My ex-husband and I were never very religious. When our daughter started dreaming of angels, started seeing one, we thought it was just… an imaginary friend. Then she started to lash out, one day. She caused scenes in public, she said things a child her age shouldn’t say. We took her to the therapist, and when she confirmed it… my ex couldn’t take it.” 

“When did the hallucinations start?” the woman asked. 

“Thinking back to it, I think she always had them,” she said. “Ever since she was a baby, her eyes were always tracking things that weren’t there. It was a habit she never lost. We thought it might be an attention deficit disorder, at first.” 

“We know she doesn’t have many friends, but those she did have were already questioned and assured us they didn’t know where she went. Do you think any of them might be lying?” 

“No,” Annette said, shaking her head. “That one girl, Sophia. She’s… rude and very impulsive, but she worries about Taylor a lot. She’s visited me in the past few days to keep me company. What other friends does Taylor have? She never mentioned any of them.” 

“A girl named Lily Walker who’s in the process of moving to Brockton, one of Ms. Hess’ old friends,” he said. “And we questioned a girl named Emma Barnes—” 

“That girl definitely isn’t her friend anymore,” Annette said, heat rising in her voice. “She and her father—” 

“I apologize,” Mr. Noah said. “I can see there’s some bad blood, so please, let’s move on. Neither of them could tell us anything specific, but there was something about a church?” 

“Yes, she told Dr. Richards about it,” Annette confirmed. The two perked up. The woman pulled out a small notebook, writing the details down. “It’s led by some man called Robson? Or something like that, I’ve not been there myself. The police told me they’ve spoken to him, and it led to nothing.” 

The woman’s phone rang. She picked up. “Hello?” 

A few seconds later, she hung up. The man looked at her. “Is something the matter?” 

“I’m afraid our questioning has been cut short,” the woman said. “Please, if you have any new information, call this number. We have to go.” 

Annette accepted the card from the woman before accompanying them to the door. “Thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank us, Ms. Crowley,” Mr. Noah said. He put his phone away—she hadn’t even noticed him pulling it out. “We’re just doing our jobs.” 

After the two left, Annette took the card to the rest of them. A small box where she had kept all important numbers from the past few days. The PRT card, she put next to another PRT card. 

Annette’s eyebrows furrowed. Something was off. It wasn’t unusual for the ending of numbers for organizations to differ, but for the beginning as well? 

#### 

As with every chapter, this has been beta’d by @Magery and @somnolentSlumber — who fix my messes at the expense of their sleep schedules. 


	8. The Watchers

Taylor dreamt. 

In her dreams, she saw light. So bright, so fierce, that she could do nothing but look away. It did not help. This was radiance that surpassed radiance—light whose shadow was the Sun. Everywhere Taylor looked, it was; she closed her eyes and saw it burning on her eyelids. All she could see was a shimmering haze, heat wafting through the air. 

Beyond it, something moved. Tall and fierce and terribly proud, it wore armour hammered from smoke and starlight, a living shadow that shimmered like the night sky. A flanged cuirass, curved greaves, spider-like gauntlets and a sweeping helmet whose face was an onyx, cut to a woman’s glittering smile. Five pairs of wings thrust themselves from slits in that armoured back—white as pearl, they fluttered in some unknown wind. Not something, then. An angel. 

Taylor inhaled and tasted earth. Earth and… gloom, perhaps, like walking through a building long abandoned. It was as familiar as her heartbeat. She wanted to weep, and did not know why. 

Opposite sat a second angel—his helmet, a squat, sparkling diamond, rested on the golden table before him and between them. Taylor could not see his face; the light broke up every detail until it was just a faded oval. But she did not need to; she inhaled again, and knew his name as if it had been carved into the stars themselves. Steel over steel. Azazel himself. 

He spoke in a voice like someone had tried to cut lightning into a sword. Fierce and crackling and _sharp_. 

“Of all our kin in Heaven,” he began, “they seek to make an example of _you_ , and you wish to do nothing about it?” 

“Yes,” said the other. Their voice, muffled by their helmet, was low and rich with confidence. “I will not speak in my defense.” 

“Even though I, and others, will? Even though I would do far more than that—not just for you, but for what and who you stand for?” 

“If I were to Fall here, I would stand alone against the might of Heaven.” Their wings unfurled, a thunder-crack against the empty sky. “I would kneel alone. I would die alone. And then… and then where would they be?” 

“Not alone,” Azazel said, and something in that promise made Taylor’s chest ache. His voice was softer, now. Not angry. Sad. Pleading. “Or I could protect them in your stead, until the time comes. Until our time comes. What you will do today will do nothing except prolong the inevitable—and for a fleeting blink of Heaven’s eyes.” 

“Fleeting.” The word was musing. “Is it not that fleeting blink, that terrible finity, that makes it so beautiful? That makes it so even you cannot look away, my brother?” 

Taylor knew, without being able to see, that Azazel was smiling wryly. “Should we not then seek to preserve that beauty through more intelligent methods, my sister?” 

“I have considered my options,” she—no longer they, but _she_ —said, “and I believe I am making the most intelligent choice. Penance before judgement for a more lenient sentence.” 

Azazel shook his head. His own wings, haloing his body like the Moon, slapped the air in frustration. “The most intelligence choice would be to argue in your defense. Are you so convinced of the irredeemability of your guilt you will not consider that Heaven, perhaps, is not?” 

He sighed. 

“But I know you, dear sister, and I know you won’t be swayed from the path you have chosen. You never were before, and never will be again. Very well. On your own back be it.” 

“Ah.” There was something in the second angel’s voice that made Taylor think this time she was the one smiling. She turned around, her wings flexing out to distinct points, like a stylised star. “Are you so sure you’re talking about _me_ now, Azazel?” 

He drew a blade from the light that had broken Taylor’s gaze. It burned in his fist, supernova-sharp, and Taylor could taste the smoke on her tongue, scarring her throat. “One day, when the worst has come, I will stand by your side.” 

“No, you won’t,” she said. “You will stand above me.” 

#### 

Taylor woke up, lightning tendrils of pain searing from her back into her skull. She groaned, tossing and turning under the sheets before her eyes found those of Raynare, lying on top of them. Wincing, Taylor swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood up, knocking the wingless angel off in the process. 

Raynare would insist she hadn’t made any undignified noises when she hit the ground. Taylor wouldn’t dispute it, if only because ignoring the pest was easier for her everyday life. Getting dressed in what, once again, were slightly too-large and too-bright clothes, Taylor made her way to the bathroom. 

The Lavere home was… large. Larger than her home by far, and her home was already rather big for two people. The house was situated in one of the richer neighborhoods, a generously-funded private school within walking distance. Despite that, and the obvious lack of monetary problems, Amelia was apparently going to Arcadia. 

Lucky her. 

For the most part, Taylor had ended up alone yesterday. Amelia had gone to school. Mr. Lavere had left to do whatever his job was. 

Things had gone awry so fast that Taylor had barely noticed it had been only a week since she’d stopped taking her meds. She’d just been stabbed _two days ago_. Now it was Saturday. The scale in the bathroom that hadn’t been there yesterday confirmed to her that her new diet plan of ‘eat everything you can get on your plate’ was working, and she was at last approaching some semblance of a normal weight. 

She’d take every victory she could get, no matter how small. 

Mr. Lavere and Amelia were sitting in the dining room. The TV was on, showing the morning news. Taylor’s attention drifted across the screen and she choked on her own saliva when she saw a picture of herself there— 

“Good morning, Ms. Stabbing Victim,” Amelia said. 

“Amelia,” Mr. Lavere said sternly. Amelia smiled at him, waving Taylor over. 

“Sorry, sorry, come grab a bite to eat. We have plans for today.” 

“Plans?” Taylor asked. Raynare was standing behind Amelia, making suggestive motions in front of her chest. Taylor’s eyebrows twitched. “I’m not sure I can show my face in public, after that.” 

Luckily, Amelia didn’t ask how she’d survived the stabbing; from the looks of it, the fact that she’d flown out of the window at school had been somewhat suppressed. She’d have to check online, eventually. 

“We’ll hide your face, but you really need clothes that fit you better,” Amelia said, looking her up and down. "It can’t be comfortable walking around like you’re going to a hip-hop show.” 

As if Taylor didn’t already feel self-conscious enough. Sighing, she took a seat at the table, where a plate had been prepared for her. 

“It’ll be fine,” Mr. Lavere said. “You don’t use your glasses anymore, just keep your head down a bit. Amelia’s been looking forward to a shopping trip.” 

“Okay,” Taylor said, nodding. French toast. More like French tasty. She might be enjoying eating a bit too much, now. Raynare was content to sit on one of the chairs, leaning over the table, slender fingers intertwined beneath her chin as she watched Taylor eat. Taylor swallowed too big a bite, forgetting to chew, and the near-choking fit reminded her that she needed to pace herself. “I’m… not sure how long we can keep this up. I can’t hide forever, I don’t want to be a burden—” 

“I think you don’t value yourself enough, Ms. Hebert,” Mr. Lavere said. “You’re being anything but a burden; of all the guests we’ve had stay with us, I’d say you’ve been the best so far.” 

“I _did_ destroy one of your mirrors.” 

“It’s a mirror, nothing irreplaceable. We’ll figure something out, but until then, take the time you need to heal. Whenever you work up the courage to face everything, I’ll stand with you.” 

Taylor nodded, blinking some moisture out of her eyes. Raynare was silent, thankfully. Why couldn’t her parents have been this supportive? 

She wanted to call Sophia. Her phone was still dead, and she wouldn’t be charging it. Who knew if she could be tracked using it. She wouldn’t put it above her mother to have done something like that. Not after everything else. 

When the news about her disappearance cut away, the images and headlines were replaced by more news about the never-ending succession war between Iron Rain and Kaiser. Mr. Lavere turned it off, muttering something inaudible. 

#### 

Taylor tried hard not to gawk when it turned out that it wasn’t the regular old mall they decided to visit, but the much, much more expensive shopping district. With no money to her name, Taylor felt even worse about being dragged along to shop here. Everywhere she looked, she saw money; a glinting watch on a businessman’s wrist, a woman’s little black dress, two boys in dark designer shirts sipping the sort of towering, grande coffee you only buy because it makes you look expensive. It wasn’t bustling, like the mall. It wasn’t loud. NO; it had the careful silence of a bank. The looming hush of a thousand gold bars stacked ten rows high. 

Taylor probably wouldn’t find anything here that fit her anyway. Unless fashion for half-skeletons was a thing. Even those stick-thin catwalk models who stalked proudly through her mother’s magazines looked like hourglasses next to her. But Amelia didn’t give her a moment to relax at all; they kept moving from store to store until Taylor’s feet were sore from all the walking. Nor did she let Taylor carry more than half the bags. 

On the plus side, it was a lot easier to drown out Raynare’s racetrack commentary on her fashion misadventures when Amelia didn’t give her a moment to listen. 

In the fourth store, Taylor tried on one of the long-sleeved shirts, Amelia handing her article after article of clothing; half of them were too large. Almost through the pile, Amelia decided she’d had enough of just waiting and looked in, finding Taylor neatly folding everything she tried on. 

“You’re… such a dork,” Amelia said. Taylor jumped, accidentally throwing one of the hoodies at the ceiling. Amelia laughed, and Taylor couldn’t help but join in. 

Five stores into their journey, she closed her eyes whenever they went to the register. Ten stores in, Amelia finally decided to let her rest. 

They sat down on a bench with a tired _thump_ , an entire wardrobe’s worth of bags next to them. 

“I think we need a taxi,” Amelia said. Taylor made an affirmative noise, rubbing her neck. Amelia pulled out her smartphone, calling for one. A minute or so later, she thumbed the screen off and spoke again. “Sorry for dragging you along so suddenly, I’m… kind of bad with people. I don’t have many friends my age, so it’s nice to go out with someone for once.” 

“I get that,” Taylor said. Without Sophia, she’d feel even more lost than she did now. She hated that she couldn’t call her. She couldn't put her in danger. Not with that piece of shit riding around town with that smug grin of his. “But your dad seems… nice, at least.” 

“He’s the best,” Amelia said, a smile dancing on her narrow lips. It had become easier and easier for Taylor to ignore the uneasy feeling that came from the knowledge that this girl, just like her, was Fallen. A hybrid, yes, but Fallen nonetheless. How had Mr. Lavere put it? ‘Less than human’. 

“I prefer ‘more than human’, to be honest,” Raynare said, leaning over to peer into the bags. Taylor didn’t react. “Though that’s really a matter of perspective, isn’t it?” 

“My parents divorced a while ago,” Taylor said. It slipped out; she didn’t _want_ to compare their situations, but she couldn’t help it. “My father couldn’t stand me and my mother blamed me for it. She never said she did, but—” 

“You can just tell?” Amelia asked. Taylor nodded, one of her hands coming up to her eyes. “I never knew my mom, so I can’t really say I understand what you’re going through. But I know that you’re better than they say you are.” 

“You don’t really know me well enough to say that,” Taylor told her. Amelia shrugged. 

“I know my father, and if he says you’re alright, then you’re alright. No kid could be _that_ bad.” 

“I’m not a kid, though,” Taylor said, crossing her arms. “You’re what? A year older or so?” 

“Aww, look.” Amelia put an arm around Taylor, warm and far too close. She stiffened, a shiver running down her spine for a moment before she relaxed. Amelia hadn’t noticed. Or if she did, she didn’t care. “You’re like a baby! You can call me your big sister if you want, you know.” 

Taylor coughed, trying fruitlessly to shove the other girl off without hurting her. Amelia’s strength was certainly a step above normal humans, but her arm felt almost hollow in Taylor’s grip, and that said concerning things about how strong _Taylor_ was. She might have been run off her feet by their shopping adventures, but the bags had never grown heavy. . 

“Amelia, please—” 

“Come on, let's get you some ice cream!” 

The bags left next to the bench, Amelia dragged her towards the window of a small gelato store. 

“Something’s about to happen,” Raynare said. She sounded serious. Taylor looked around, seeing only the bustle of the now-lunchtime crowd around them—far more people than had been there when they’d arrived, but that was to be expected. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. “Something _interesting_.” 

They returned to the bench after Amelia paid for their ice cream, enjoying their treats in silence. Taylor sighed, watching the now seemingly-endless stream of people go by. Most ignored the pair, seeing just another two girls out shopping, but she received a few suspicious looks due to the too-large hoodie she’d gotten from Amelia, which made her look like Greg had when he’d decided to give her a couple new holes to breathe from. 

They had finished their ice creams by the time the taxi finally rumbled up to the sidewalk their bench was situated on. As it pulled up to the curb and Amelia stood to get the door, Raynare grabbed Taylor’s head, forcing it to look towards a nearby jewelry store. 

Three shots rang out, _bang bang bang_ , and a screeching alarm broke the shocked silence afterward. 

Taylor saw a masked man rush out, a pistol in his right hand. The other held a duffel bag, likely full of wares from the store. In his wake, a security guard fell through the door, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. 

The man beelined towards them, waving the gun around as if daring anyone to challenge him. Amelia, still standing next to the door of the taxi, was frozen. 

The taxi driver hit the gas as the man’s fingers brushed the handle, ditching them. Obviously angry that his fastest escape route had eluded him, the man made to grab Amelia. 

Taylor shoved her way between them, her body moving out of reflex, her fists clenching painfully. Should she call her wings? 

Raynare’s mocking laughter echoed from behind. 

“Do you really not know your own strength at this point?” the angel asked. “You had to stop yourself from snapping that girl’s arm like glass and you’re worried about mortal _bullets?_ ” 

That wasn’t it. Taylor knew she had the strength. She didn’t know how to hold it back properly. If she went all out, she might kill him. 

That wasn’t something she could live with—so instead of putting her fist through the man’s head, she tried to wrestle the gun away from him. Most of the useless bystanders were running, but some were just watching from what they thought was a safe distance. When she finally managed to make him let go, a sharp smack to his shoulder that drew a tight yelp of pain, she shoved him, the pistol clattering to the ground at his feet. 

Amelia grabbed her wrist and pulled her along. 

It all happened so fast. 

Raynare was already in her ear again, her arms wrapped around Taylor’s neck, soft as a noose. A low whisper. 

“Behind you,” Raynare said, her breath warm on Taylor’s ear. 

Taylor turned her head. The robber stumbled to his feet and grabbed the gun. She could see it. The way the muscles of his arm bunched and spasmed under the fabric of his sleeve as the muzzle rose in their direction. The slow tightening of his finger on the trigger. The snap as the trigger gave way. The thump of the pistol’s hammer striking the firing pin. The explosion. The trajectory of the bullet. The inevitable entry point. The blood and tears. The failure that would be her responsibility, because she had held back. 

Taylor threw Amy onto the ground, wrapping her body around the older girl. The bullet slammed into her back like she’d been struck by a hammer, and her teeth ground together. It was as if the robber had abandoned all thoughts of escape; his screams of rage were only drowned out by the sound of his gun emptying its magazine into her body. It sounded like it was raining thunder. 

When the sound of the final few casings bouncing to the ground stopped and only clicks were audible, Taylor looked up. 

The man was on his knees, light hair dishevelled, a security guard from another store having finally arrived and aiming his gun at the him. 

Amelia was crying. Taylor helped her to her feet. She had to get away before the police showed up, but she couldn’t just leave Amelia here. Lifting the girl into a bridal carry, she ran. 

The clink of metal behind her, as if she had dropped a bunch of pennies, was left behind. The people who tried to stop her were too slow. She moved like the wind and weather. 

#### 

“Lord Anane,” a young woman’s voice came through the phone speaker. “We have received a report. The PRT were hesitant, but in the end obliged to share the information with us.” 

“Is something the matter?” Anane asked. His office wasn’t very large; the only reason he had a secretary at this point was due to the times he was out of town. It was surprising just how many Fallen had managed to slip through the cracks and hadn’t been caught by the forces of Heaven. 

“A girl was recently stabbed in the territory of the East-North-East PRT,” she said. “According to eyewitnesses, the girl came back to life with black wings on her back. They’ve managed to establish a short embargo on these details, to avoid the girl being strong-armed by villains—” 

“Unsealed?” Anane asked. The woman made an affirmative noise. “But none of the lesser Fallen were sealed—” 

“Two wings, my lord,” she said. “It could be her.” 

Anane sucked a deep breath through his teeth. There was no way that damned astronomer wasn’t already aware. He had to catch up to him, make sure she was safe. 

“How were we made aware?”  


“Lavere’s husband sent us a message, but also asked us to give him time to prepare the girl to the best of his ability,” she said. “Perhaps a weapon would be appropriate?” 

Anane shivered at the thought. “If he’s taking care of her, it should be fine for now. I’d rather avoid giving one of the few blades we have left to the… to a guttering candle that barely remembers it used to be a flame..” 

“My lord, if I may speak frankly—” 

  
“Please do.” 

“Is this truly the way to treat one’s sister?” 

“I love her, and she is my sister, right or wrong,” Anane said. He stood to pace the room, long legs circling his desk with careful strides. “But she is dangerous. I would not trust her with a butter knife.” 

“What should we do then?” 

  
“Keep track of Kokabiel’s movements in the area. Inform me if anything significant occurs,” Anane said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And get me the idiots who are in charge of the exorcism over there on the phone, tell them she’s under the protection of both us and Mr. Lavere.” 

“Would that not inform them of her location?” 

“Fifty-seven exorcists was the last count. If they want to make it fifty-eight, I say I dare them to try.” 

“Very well. Your will be done.” 

The phone buzzed for a moment. The voice was gone. Anane sighed, and steepled his fingers over his mouth. What a mess. 


	9. Arc 3: Hope - Exorcist Mara

Taylor wasn’t out of breath. She didn’t know if she could be, at this point. If she ever managed to step back to normality, she’d definitely rub that under Sophia’s nose, but right now she had more important things to worry about. For instance, the girl who, after having cried due to shock, had fallen asleep in her arms. 

Her attempts to keep running and to fish out Amelia’s phone at the same time, even after it was clear that people had stopped chasing after her, gave her no end of difficulty. In part because of the speed they were going making Taylor worry what would happen if her grip slipped and she dropped the other girl on the ground, and in part because the smell coming off Amelia was now stronger than ever. Old wood and the forest beneath the rain. She didn’t have much of a choice whether or not to keep going until they reached Mr. Lavere’s home. She wanted to take the girl to a hospital, get her a checkup, but a cursory glance revealed no obvious wounds besides the mental fatigue of nearly being shot to death. 

If she could have afforded it, Taylor might’ve broken down as well. She’d just been _shot_ at, in broad daylight, in the middle of the street. 

When Taylor turned a corner towards the conventional, normal-seeming looking home, she saw Mr. Lavere standing on the front porch, the door already open. 

She nodded, skidding her sprint to a slow walk and carrying the girl in, maneuvering so she didn’t accidentally knock Amelia’s head on the doorframe. Mr. Lavere shut the door behind them with a click, taking Amelia off her. 

“You did well,” he said. Taylor blinked. Mr. Lavere didn’t elaborate, opting instead to carry Amelia to her bedroom after a brief check of her condition. When he finished up, he came back, moving to the kitchen and preparing some coffee. 

“You knew?” Taylor asked. The man shook his head. “What are you talking about, then?” 

“I have a spell, of sorts. It lets me know when she’s in danger,” he explained. “The spell usually lets me know beforehand, a sort of… clairvoyance. It took me a lot of money to acquire something like that. It was blocked, which means—” 

He stopped himself, looking at Taylor. Did he want her to figure it out on her own? She thought back to the situation. The taxi hadn’t been the only car there, not by a long shot. It hadn’t even been the closest one the robber could have hijacked. 

Raynare’s head leaned on her shoulder. This close, the jasmine of her hair drowned beneath the blood of her soul. Taylor didn’t need to see her to know she was smiling. 

“It was a setup,” Taylor said. “Was he going for Amelia?”  


“I doubt it. I have an… understanding, of sorts, with the Catholic church. They stop sending exorcists, I stop sending them heads. The Protestant church has never attempted to go after her. Even if it _was_ a church, that’s just not their MO.” 

“Which leaves?” 

Raynare laughed. “Do you need it to be spelled out? Dirty work and dirtier work? Setting up a human to take the fall? Angels are too honorable. Fallen, while miserable, like to get their own hands dirty. What does that leave?” 

“Demons?” Taylor asked aloud. Mr. Lavere sighed, pouring the finished coffee into two cups, handing one over to her. She didn’t really like it, but the warmth was somewhat comforting. 

“The church has an interesting stance on demons. I like the Protestant phrasing the best,” Mr. Lavere said. “A demon is a malevolent supernatural being. Under that classification, Fallen like you don’t count, while Fallen like Starsworn, or Kokabiel as you know him, most certainly do. This leaves ‘devils’, or ‘shayatin’ in other parts of the world. Some might call them lesser evils.” 

“So all devils are demons, but not all demons are devils,” Taylor surmised. 

“It gets a bit more complicated the more you dig in, but that works as a rule of thumb.” The man took a deep draught of the clearly-scalding coffee, swallowing without a hint of discomfort. “Which leaves two questions: which of the two of you were they targeting, and why?” 

Taylor frowned. “It didn’t look like he wanted to shoot Amelia at first. He tried to grab her, maybe take her somewhere?” 

“But why her? This hit must’ve been planned; any Fallen would work if they had plans to use one—” 

“Then me,” Taylor said. Mr. Lavere didn’t say anything, but it was confirmation enough. “They wanted to get me through her. They knew if they had her, you’d trade me away.” 

Again, no answer. But Taylor could see the fire in his eyes at the thought. The certainty with which he would put his daughter above all else. And she couldn’t fault him for that. 

_Raynare_ was looking at him with _adoration_. 

“Which still leaves a why—” 

“There are very few sealed angels,” Mr. Lavere said. Raynare nodded. Why couldn’t this information have reached Taylor’s ears before everyone else’s? “Very, very few. All of them, at a minimum, have four wings, to a maximum of ten. You know how an angel’s wings denote their power?” 

“Somewhat,” Taylor said. “I… saw an angel in a dream, twelve golden wings. It hurt to look.” 

“Michael, leader of the Archangels. He who is like God. His inability to rein in the conflicts between the churches is about the only thing that gives the unfaithful respite. The most powerful demons are more busy dealing with their own politics, which generally leaves lesser devils who want to rise above their stations.” 

“Weaker ones that can’t fight a true four-winged angel, and think a sealed angel with two wings is easy prey?” 

“That’s my theory, at least.” 

Taylor grumbled. So not only was it possible that the church would send exorcists after her, she was also being hunted by uppity devils trying to score big. “Here I thought my mother was the worst of my problems.” 

“It’s fine, Ms. Hebert. I’m here to help, after all.” 

Taylor looked up. That soft smile that betrayed nothing made it hard to doubt his words, but it was not _doubt_ that settled in her chest like shards of glass. 

“Because I’m here, your daughter’s in even more danger. How can you keep helping me?” 

“You had no reason to, but you protected her when I couldn’t. Does that count for nothing?” 

“If it wasn’t for me, she wouldn't have been in danger in the first place!” 

“No, she would have.” Mr. Lavere shook his head, sighing. He put his cup down. “If the spell to keep her out of danger was blocked, that means someone finally found a way around it. I can’t be with her forever.” 

“You’ve spoiled her too much,” Taylor said. Raynare spoke the words at the same time. Subtly flipping the angel off, she rubbed her neck, putting her own barely-touched cup on the table. If nothing else, the biting smell of the coffee had shocked her back to coherency. “Don’t you think it’s time to tell her? So that she can be prepared for the worst.” 

“Perhaps.” Mr. Lavere sat down on the table. The burning stench of his inhumanity flickered and faded, leaving only old, drifting ashes. “You might not understand it, Ms. Hebert. But the moment I tell her, there is no way back. The world will be a scary place, and I cannot fathom that a girl as kind and pure as her has a place in such a cruel reality.” 

“Isn’t that your fault?” Raynare asked. Taylor shook her head, stopping the question before it left her lips. 

“Isn’t that inevitable?” Taylor asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to ease her into it, and make sure she’s ready when she’s caught off guard?” 

“I wish it were so easy for me.” 

Vulnerability. Taylor could see it all over his face. This hardened man, killer of so many exorcists he’d probably lost track of the count, had one weakness. Again, she could see her own parents next to him. Comparing them. 

He said he was a terrible person. She ought to believe him; everything ‘Raynare’ in her told her that this man had more than just the blood of exorcists on his hands. 

But to her, in her position, after her experiences… 

Mr. Lavere was the kind of father, the kind of parent, she wished she had. 

“How about…” Taylor began, her fingers digging into her arm out of habit, “until you work up the courage to tell her, how about I protect her when you can’t?” 

“I can’t let you take the responsibility for that. I’ve seen it in the past, when people far too young get involved in matters they should be shielded from,” he said. When he spoke again, his words were slow. Careful. Weighed down with memory. “You’re a child, Ms. Hebert. You might be already involved, but for my peace of mind I wish I could give you respite and let you finish school, have friends, and live a life worth living before dealing with the mess that is this world.” 

“Shouldn’t that be my decision?” 

Mr. Lavere chuckled. “I’m afraid when it comes to my daughter, I can’t let other people make that choice for me.” 

#### 

Taylor shivered as she walked through the night. It was more a habit than a reflex—the cold wind was ostensibly harsh, but did nothing to make her feel uncomfortable. 

The cobblestone-paved street near Immaculata, down the road away from Mr. Lavere’s home, was lit pleasantly by the old-fashioned street-lamps’ warm yellow light. Tonight was a new moon. The light pollution making it impossible to see the stars. The sky was empty. Still. Somewhere, a crow croaked. A nearby hedge, some rich man’s vanity, rustled in the fierce breeze. 

Despite the fairytale-menace of the atmosphere, Taylor felt the knot of tension in her shoulders loosen as she continued on her way. She needed to relax, clear her head. Maybe see if any of bags she’d had to abandon hadn’t been picked up by someone else and bring them to Amelia. 

That was when she heard it. A soft humming. Raynare sung along to the familiar tune, her voice a songbird’s envy. Then the sound changed. Over the humming, Taylor heard something that made her—made _Raynare’s_ memories flare up. 

The scratching sound of a blade on stone. Taylor turned around, ready to bring out her wings and fly away. The voice of a girl echoed from the shadows, the humming from earlier turning into a softly spoken song, or perhaps a poem. 

_“Triumph all ye cherubim_ , 

_Sing with us ye seraphim_ —” 

Taylor’s eyes widened at the appearance of the girl, short as a child. She looked like a nun, the black of her traditional habit so dark it would not have been possible to see her in the darkness had she not stepped into the pool of light cast by a nearby streetlamp. What little was visible beneath the scarf wrapped around her head was wrapped in bandages, exposing only the glint of a pair of delicate, round-framed spectacles. 

Clutched in her small, leather-gloved hand was a guardless saber with a large, curved pommel. It was a one-handed blade, made massive by comparison thanks to its wielder’s diminutive stature. 

“Heaven and earth resound the hymn, hmmm?” Raynare asked, smiling. “What a cute baby exorcist.” 

Taylor sprang into action. Her wings spread, lifting her up. 

Twenty feet away, she stiffened with a cry as red lightning sparked across her wings. They spasmed painfully, and she fell, twisting in the air to land on her feet, stumbling. 

“There’s a ward around here,” Raynare said, sounding wholly unconcerned. “Can’t you hear how the wind is wrong? It’s used to prevent hunted targets from fleeing. If you want to destroy it, you’ll have to take her out.” 

“You knew,” Taylor said. It wasn’t an accusation, just a statement. “I was walking into a trap. You knew it.” 

“You need to stop hiding,” Raynare said. She sounded almost chastising, a teacher to a recalcitrant child. “You’re far stronger than you think you are. More than enough to slap some sense into this silly zealous chit. Until you get over that block in your pretty little head, you’re not going to be able to protect anything. Fight her.” 

“Have you considered that I don’t want to fight?” 

“I have.” Raynare’s smirk, disgustingly arrogant, told Taylor exactly how much she cared. 

Taylor sighed, the air escaping through her teeth. _Typical._ She spoke up, interrupting the girl’s humming. 

“I don’t want to fight,” Taylor said, repeating her earlier words aloud. The street had been picked perfectly. There were no homes right next to the school—only a few businesses that would be closed at this hour. The exorcist looked up to the sky, the motion turning her glasses to two white circles, shining with the street-lamp’s light. 

“The Catholic cowards cower as you hide behind the Heretic Butcher,” the girl said. Despite her crazed appearance, her tone was dignified and calm. “The Protestants claim that to attack someone such as you before you have done anything to Man would be… unethical.” 

“Ask for her name,” Raynare suggested. “Regardless of the church, they’re ridiculously honorable about this sort of thing. They like to pretend it means something if the murdered can name their murderer.” 

“And you’re from?” Taylor asked. The girl tilted her head to the side, slightly too far, until it perpendicular from its formerly upright position. “I mean, if we’re going to fight here, wouldn’t it be nice to introduce yourself? You know me already, after all. I’m Taylor Hebert.” 

“Mara,” she said. “Executioner Mara, dispatched by the Eastern Orthodox church to dispose of you, failure to Heaven.” 

Taylor wanted to ask what the Eastern Orthodox church was doing in New Hampshire of all places, but didn’t get the chance. The only warning Taylor got was a slight shift of the girl’s feet beneath her habit before she launched herself into a high, leaping arc, her curved blade trailing behind her. She came from above, her dark robes blending into the starless sky, and fell like the wrath of God Himself. 

Taylor backpedalled, barely fast enough. The sword cleaved into the ground where her feet used to be and sent some of the cobblestones flying away, shattering the silence. 

“You can take bullets, but not that sword,” Raynare warned. “If you have to block it, your wings should be strong enough. Otherwise, dodge.” 

Taylor didn’t need to be told twice. The girl’s second swing was horizontal, trying to slice her in half. Taylor jumped; memories that weren’t hers told her the barrier only made flying impossible past a certain height. She came down with a motion that felt unpracticed but strangely smooth, her fists raised above her as she landed feet-first onto the spine of the girl’s sword. Her weight slammed it into the ground, and Taylor hammered her fists down onto the girl’s skull with a sharp crack. 

The girl fell. Taylor took a few steps back, looking at the scene with wide eyes. Was that it? She hadn’t held back, she couldn’t afford to, but— 

Had she just killed someone? 

“Watch out!” Raynare’s sharp cry brought her back to reality. The girl was stirring, holding the sword in both hands now. She used it to prop herself up, the bandages around her face slipping to reveal a smile not unlike Raynare’s, despite the blood running down her cheeks from remnants of her glasses embedded in her skin 

“Salve, salve, salve, Regina,” Mara hummed, continuing her hymn. Without warning, the sword exploded into light—Taylor felt the heat against her skin like she’d just ignited a bonfire. It charred her nose as if she’d been shoved face-first into it, too. With a massive upwards swing, Mara sent a gust of wind at Taylor, who braced against it with her arms, trying to keep the blast out of her eyes. Despite her efforts, Taylor found herself pushed back, slightly off-balance. In that instant of momentary blindness, the sword was at her stomach, Mara having closed the distance in a second. Taylor was slower. Strength was never the measure by which the exorcist had decided to fight here. 

Taylor used her wings to crudely propel herself away, arching her back to allow the stab to pass just over her sternum and for once in her life thanking God— _ow_ —that she wasn’t built like Raynare. With her torso parallel to the ground, she kicked both legs forward, knocking Mara’s feet from under her, and grabbed the girl’s arms as soon as they were both hit the ground with a bone-rattling thud. Taylor’s grip tightened around Mara’s wrists until the sword fell from her slack fingers. 

“I don’t want to fight,” Taylor repeated, for the third time today. 

Without a touch, the sword flew up, hanging over them like its Damoclean namesake. Mara smiled. Taylor could dodge, but that’d mean letting Mara take the blade. No. 

If she didn’t dodge, at that angle, it’d hit them both anyway. Both were options she couldn’t accept. Raynare might call it softness, but Taylor would call it humanity. When the blade came down, aimed at Taylor’s back, she lashed her wings out. Thunder rolled across the sky. 

Both wings at the same time were enough to deflect the blade. Rather than pierce through her chest, it bit into her shoulder. Deeply, yes, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed. She cried out in pain, rolling off the other girl. The sword stabbed into the road beneath them, slicing a thin cut across Mara’s cheek. 

Mara rolled in the other direction, pulling the sword from the stone—so to speak—and raising it high. Taylor growled, her wings coming up in front of her into a makeshift shield, waiting for the blow. It never came. 

A gunshot broke out in the night, the loud echo making Taylor’s ears ring. The sword hit the pavement once more, sliding away from the exorcist as if it had been ripped from her hands. 

“Put your hands up,” someone shouted. Taylor opened her wings slightly, peeking out hesitantly. Something had impacted in Mara’s sword, leaving… a dent? It was barely visible, but there. “This is Miss Militia of the Protectorate. I repeat, put your hands up and slowly walk towards me.” 

Mara looked disturbingly annoyed. Some of her bandages had slipped completely off over the course of their fight, hanging from her neck and revealing a multitude of scars underneath. They covered her skin like crosshatch stitches.The frown on her face gave her the appearance of a snarling tiger. 

Protectorate or no, that sword was dangerous. When Mara tried to call the blade to her hand, no doubt realizing that the heroine would hesitate to shoot a child, Taylor moved. With a shout, she rushed towards the young exorcist and _punched_. 

The girl crumpled around the fist impacting her stomach. Taylor could see bile and saliva spew from her mouth, fortunately missing Taylor by a few inches. With a shuddering wheeze, Mara fell limply to her knees. 

Taylor could feel the anti-flight barrier breaking. But she had more important concerns—like the gun suddenly trained on her instead, She could take a pistol, but Miss Militia wasn’t holding a _pistol_. Couldn’t really fault her for not lowering her aim; Taylor had just punched out a girl short enough to be a child, even if that girl had clearly been trying to cut her open moments beforehand. In a city like Brockton, it was better safe than sorry. 

“Miss M, let me,” someone said. Raynare giggled, clapping her hands together. A girl in a hooded cloak, wearing the mask of a stern woman, walked through a window in a swirl of shadow, a crossbow in her hand. Taylor narrowed her eyes, but rather than point it at her, the girl slowly lowered the crossbow to the ground. 

“Shadow Stalker,” Miss Militia said. “There’s a protocol.” 

“I know her,” Shadow Stalker said, her voice trembling a little. “Please, let me try.” 

Miss Militia lowered her weapon, which blurred back into a pistol. Taylor knew a wrong move would mean she’d be on the other end of a bullet. Maybe a rubber bullet. Maybe not. While she doubted the impact would do much to her either way, not with a gun now that small, it was still a nice gesture. Shadow Stalker (a Ward, if she remembered right) stepped forward. Taylor’s wings fluttered, ready to take off. 

“Taylor,” Shadow Stalker said. Taylor frowned. The girl raised a hand to her mask, lifting it up to reveal a familiar face. Dark skin, a sharp jaw, eyes made for laughing. Mostly at other people. Taylor took a step back, her own eyes widening. “You had me worried.” 

Taylor had many questions, but a lot of them had just been answered. Of course Sophia couldn’t tell her she was a Ward, and the juvie thing she mentioned… Taylor burst into laughter. 

“Sorry,” Taylor said, her shoulders shaking. The wound in her shoulder ached. While she didn’t bleed, a strange haze had come over her. “Sorry, I’m—” 

“I’m sorry,” Sophia said. Taylor smiled at her, tilting her head slightly. “All the time we’ve known each other, I lied to you about this. And while you were being honest, I did think you were a nutjob—” 

“Shadow Stalker,” Miss Militia chided. Taylor waved it off, smiling. 

“To be fair,” Taylor said, “so did I. It’s fine, Sophia. I have some business to attend to, I’m sorry I can’t come with you. Maybe another day.” 

Maybe never, but that would send the wrong message. And it might make Sophia think Taylor was talking about their friendship, too. The warmth in her chest, flushing through her bones like hot chocolate in the winter, at the sight of the girl who’d unmask her greatest secret just to reassure a friend… no. Taylor would _always_ have another day for Sophia. 

“I’m not placing you under arrest,” Miss Militia said. “But we have orders to take you in for questioning; whatever happened here can be cleared up, I’m sure.”  


Taylor looked at the exorcist. Could she let the PRT take her in? 

“Taylor,” Sophia said. “Is that cut hurting?” 

Taylor turned her head slightly. Crossing her arms and shaking her head, she smiled widely. 

“Man, this is awkward,” Taylor said. “I’m _really_ hungry for burgers right now.” 

Taylor crouched, grabbing the sword in one hand. She darted over to the exorcist, a painful flap of her wings helping propel over the road, and grabbed her with the other hand before taking off. Miss Militia took aim, but couldn’t fire, not with a hostage in the way. 

“This is my fault,” Sophia said. Miss Militia shook her head. 

“It’s not wrong to want to help a friend,” the Protectorate hero told her. “We arrived on the scene slightly too late, and the girls fighting were already gone. Sound good to you?” 

Sophia sighed, rubbing her head. Burgers. Of course. 

#### 

“You sent an unstable, barely-trained exorcist,” a man said, his voice rising with each syllable, “wielding not just a mass-produced sword, but a _faulty_ mass-produced sword, to kill someone under the protection of _that man_?”  


“To kill someone who, up until last week, was human, and has not shown any signs of attacking humans since, at that,” a woman said. 

One look at the room would reveal the strangeness. Two priests and a female pastor, though the former two differed in their getups. While the man whose angry shouts were audible all the way through to the front entrance was dressed in white and gold, the other man, who was calmly sitting and drinking his tea in the face of the first man’s shouting, was dressed in black. 

“It is not in cowardice that we achieve perfection, not that you Catholics would understand,” the man in black said. “And not in waiting for suffering to happen that we prevent it, _pastor_.” 

The man did not sound particularly respectful when he spat the word out, despite his almost too quiet voice. 

“We have this conversation every week, Priest Gregory,” she said. “And your lack of respect for me does not change the fact that I’m the representative of the collective of Protestant churches. If we could move on and deal with the elephant in the room, that would be kind.” 

“What Pastor Pauline is trying to say, far more politely than warranted,” the man in white said, “is _what were you thinking_?” 

“Everywhere in the world, especially here in the Americas,” Gregory said, “whenever a human awakens as a _demon_ , more of them will flock together without fail. It happened with Starsworn and the Lament. It happened in Russia, in Germany, in Spain, and in China. We thought there were maybe a dozen Fallen overall left in the world; instead, we have almost two hundred on the record.” 

“This one is not a Watcher, though, if she has only two wings,” Pauline said. “After all, that was your report on the matter, was it not, Priest Lewis?” 

“Indeed,” Lewis said. “There is no way other Fallen would flock to her. Most who used to work under Starsworn quickly joined with the Lament because they wanted to _avoid_ fighting. It’s not particularly surprising. They all remember the price of the last war, far, far better than we.” 

“Yet it is the Mad Marquis that protects her,” Gregory said, looking like he had swallowed something bitter. “You should stop considering what makes her average and start considering what makes her special.” 

“Special?” Lewis asked. Pauline leaned over the table. 

“Have you really not noticed, or are you that blinded by fear?” Gregory asked. “Why would an angel with only two wings be sealed?” 

“We already have the information, through correspondence with the Archangels,” Pauline said pompously. Gregory didn’t look too happy about Pauline’s boast. “Every angel that was captured had wings cut off. None of them lost eight.” 

“None they want us to know about.” 

“You accuse _Heaven itself_ of lying?” Lewis asked, shouting the question. He stood up, his chair falling away. 

“No, I accuse them of fudging the details to protect their secrets.” Gregory folded his arms across his chest. “While you might be willing to wait around until she becomes a threat, I will not stand for this.” 

“Then you will put yourself against the majority decision,” Pauline said. “Is that what you wish to do? A war among exorcists?”  


“A _war_ , for one demon?” Gregory asked, sounding almost amused. “If you do start one, it will be you who is to blame for needless bloodshed. I will not risk yet another group of them forming right under our noses.” 

“Hm,” Pauline said. “While you do have a point, I have the feeling there is something you refuse to tell us.” 

“How so, dear pastor?” Gregory asked, standing up. 

“You accuse us of threatening needless bloodshed over _one_ demon, as you call them,” Pauline said, meeting his eyes as she stood in turn. “Yet you would go out of your way to start a fight with the Lavere family, the Lament’s group, who have said the girl is under their protection, and possibly the PRT, who we have a deal with to avoid dragging innocent people into our affairs unnecessarily. All for _one_ demon.” 

Gregory didn’t falter at her glare. “People who would side with the heretical are nothing but facsimiles of faithful _men_. We will handle our affairs, you handle yours.” 

“If you make your affairs ours,” Lewis said, “be assured we will deal with you accordingly. Not over one Fallen woman, but over the distrust you sow in our institutions.” 

Gregory didn’t deign to answer them, walking out of the meeting room with his head held high. 

“The Lament knows something,” Lewis said. “Would it be too much to ask you to investigate?” 

Pauline sighed. “I’m unsure if Anane is willing to part with information. Gregory isn’t wrong; they won’t just seal a random angel. Most Fallen who were captured were executed. It was the high-ranking angels who God loved too much to return to the abyss that He spared. Whoever she is now cannot be what she was then—unless she’s a nephilim, newly woken, and that’s another can of worms entirely. ” 

“Then we’ll have to make our case. I don’t want another crusade in the middle of this country,” Lewis said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Or at least ask him to take her in now and not leave her in the city.” 

“Something tells me he considered that and decided against it. She _could_ be dangerous.” 

“Is it not your people’s call that nothing is dangerous until it has proven itself to be so? Are you trying to see if I would argue against you here?” 

“You’re a good man, Lewis,” Pauline said. “Differences in ideologies don’t make you a worse person. A crisis like this arises every time a sealed Angel awakens. We will weather the storm like usual, and things will go back to how they were.” 

Lewis smiled. “I suppose you’re right.” 


	10. Pillars

“We need to get you a phone.” 

Taylor hadn’t really investigated the property surrounding Mr. Lavere’s house too much. In hindsight, she should have expected the rather inconspicuous garden shed in the backyard was a bit more than its outer appearance—weatherbeaten iron and wood—indicated. 

The two of them stood inside, now, where he was bandaging up her wound, which had stopped burning about halfway through the flight. One set of plywood shelves against one of the walls had apparently contained just the right sort of medical supplies for taking care of holy sword wounds, which was… well, again, Taylor should have expected it.When she’d showed up, he had been standing outside already, clearly aware of her approach. He’d rushed her to the shed, telling her to drop the sword first, the exorcist afterwards. 

“I have one, but I don’t really think I can use it,” Taylor said. Mr. Lavere grunted. 

“Show me your hand,” he said. She lifted it up. The sword had left an impression on it as well; the shiny burns weren’t quite on the level of the cut, but very much an annoyance. “These will have to heal slower than usual, which is still faster than a human, mind you. But the next time you fight an exorcist with a Holy Sword, don’t get hit.” 

“I warned you,” Raynare said. Taylor glanced over to her. She stood behind Mara,, hair a lazy midnight curtain, leaning over the bound girl’s shoulders. When not trying to kill her, the exorcist looked peaceful. If it wasn’t for the scars, she might’ve had the appearance of an adorable child. 

“You didn’t tell me about holy swords before,” Taylor said. Mr. Lavere sighed. 

“They’re swords forged from light, a lot of them in imitation of legendary weapons.” Finishing the bandaging, he stood up and held the sword up. No sizzling from him. “This one’s not even a proper one. It’s crude, unfinished. Whoever made this did not have the support of an angel. What church did you say she was with?” 

“Eastern Orthodox,” Taylor answered. “Is… Amelia alright?” 

“She woke up earlier. Once she was over the shock, she seemed… okay, but I’ll check up on her once we’re finished here.” 

Mr. Lavere swung the sword. Light exploded off it to the sound of a struck match. He tossed it hilt-first towards Taylor, who reached out to catch it. It didn’t burn anymore. 

“If the protection of faith was so weak, that explains why you didn’t combust from that one cut. Count yourself fortunate.” 

Taylor wanted to say she could have dodged, but she had the feeling she knew the response that’d get already. 

“I couldn’t just let her get arrested by the PRT,” Taylor said, her shoulders sagging. She gritted her teeth as pain shot through her back at the motion. 

“You should’ve killed her right there,” Mr. Lavere said. “It’d have sent the right message. The head of a dead exorcist makes for a very good threat.” 

  
“She’s a child,” Taylor said, lowering the sword to the ground, the tip touching the wooden floorboards. They sizzled, slightly. “I can’t just kill a child.” 

“They would,” Mr. Lavere said. “Whether it’s three years old or eighteen… to people like that, it makes no difference.” 

“And I should stoop to their level?” Taylor asked, her voice rising. Raynare looked terribly amused, that inhuman black glint dancing in her eyes. “Do you think people that age had a choice in becoming hunters for the churches?” 

Mr. Lavere’s expression showed just an inch of contempt. Taylor felt dirty. She knew his vulnerability, but using it against him in what amounted to a petty argument over have-beens made her feel uncomfortable. 

Mara stirred awake. She gave a sudden jolt as she straightened her back, as if trying to knock the chair over. Unfortunately, said chair was bolted into the ground, and the rope around her was as much physical as it was spiritual, runes running over the fibers. Taylor could smell it—like cold-iron. Like cages. 

When Mara ceased struggling, she looked around, finding Mr. Lavere and Taylor staring at her. A glance at the sword threw that ceasing out the window—she was struggling now harder than she’d struggled before. The rope did not so much as flex.. 

“Useless,” Mr. Lavere said. “This girl is drugged out of her mind. There’s no way we’re going to get anything out of her.” 

Mara looked at him, her eyes wide. For a moment, Taylor could see fear rather than subdued madness. Could taste it like sweet fat against her tongue. 

“It’s you,” she said, and her voice made it sound as much as an accusation as it was a statement. Mr. Lavere smiled at her. Taylor leaned the sword against the wall. “The Mad Marquis. Murderer. _Butcher_.” 

Taylor blinked. _Marquis_ was a familiar name. 

“Murder is such a strong word,” Mr. Lavere said, stepping forward. Raynare laughed, now leaning over Taylor’s shoulders, watching as the man’s approach caused the exorcist visible distress. “I prefer self-defense for these cases. What about you, Exorcist Mara of the Eastern Orthodox Church? What would you call a person that hunts down others in the dead of night?” 

“Mr. Lavere,” Taylor said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Taylor could see it, the girl’s uncomfortable squirming, trying to get as far away from him as possible despite the binding. 

“You’d attack a girl under my protection, but are so very afraid of me. Why?” he asked. Taylor’s grip on his shoulder tightened slightly. 

“Mr. Lavere,” Taylor said, making him look back at her. “I think you’re right. We’re not going to get anything out of her.” 

“G-G-Gregory,” Mara stuttered out. She was sweating. Her pupils were contracting and expanding rapidly. Mr. Lavere frowned. “I’m sorryyyy—” 

Her words turned into a squeal. Taylor put a hand over her mouth. 

“She’s coming off whatever they gave her,” Mr. Lavere said, his voice losing the edge from earlier. “It’s a potion that makes you fearless, to an extent. The body flushes it out fast when you’re afraid for your life despite it, as a failsafe to trigger a flight response.” 

“You knew,” Taylor said, her eyebrows twitching. This man was as infuriating as he was capable. The fact that his mere presence caused the potion to flush out the exorcist’s system was perturbing, to say the least. “So what now?” 

“If she was useless to us drugged up, she’s in an even more pathetic state now,” he said, shrugging. “I know everything I need to know. Drop her off somewhere far from here before dawn breaks.” 

Mara’s breathing was shallow, getting faster. Tears were streaming of her eyes, snot running down her nose and onto Taylor’s hand. Mr. Lavere walked out of the shed, snapping his fingers. The bindings on the rope shattered, setting the girl free. 

Her first reflex was to jump off the chair and run into the corner, as far away from the shed’s door as possible. Taylor didn’t stop her, wiping her hand off on the already-torn hoodie she had thrown off to the side to allow Mr. Lavere to bandage her up. 

“I think I know why he sent you,” Taylor said, stepping forward. It was surprisingly easy to forgive someone who’d just tried to kill her. Pastor Robinson might be a bit concerned that it happened had _again_ , but it was what it was. “Either they thought I’d hold back against a child, or if I killed you, they’d have more of a cause to hunt me down, right?” 

Mara whimpered in answer, cringing away. She looked more like a kicked puppy than an exorcist at that point. “I can’t go back.” 

“You can go elsewhere,” Taylor said. 

“No,” Mara said. _Pleaded_. “I _can’t_ go back, if I go back, they’ll punish me. Don’t send me back. Please _please_ _please_ —” 

Fuck. 

_Fuck_. 

Raynare’s mocking laughter made the whole situation even harder. She couldn’t just force someone to go back when she wasn’t willing to do the same. 

“I can’t let you stay here either,” Taylor said. “Mr. Lavere isn’t… happy with exorcists. But I know a church, with a really nice pastor. He might let you stay for a few days until you figure out what you want to do.” 

Mara looked up. Her tear-streaked, red face wasn’t making it any easier for Taylor to just drop her somewhere halfway across the city. 

Taylor held out her hand, waiting until Mara worked up the courage to grab it. The exorcist flinched when Taylor summoned her wings, the dull thud of four more landing on the ground behind her. 

They took flight quickly, making sure nobody was around, each wingbeat a stab of pain in Taylor’s bandaged wound. The air cut across Taylor’s skin like it’d been sharpened with ice, but she ignored it. The girl hadn’t complained about her sword, at least. 

Taylor wasn’t willing to just let it go. It was nice having her own after seeing Mr. Lavere swing his around. 

“My parents left me at the orphanage,” Mara said. Taylor hummed. “It was nice, there, but sometimes people came. Not parents, they took kids with them somewhere.”  


“You don’t have to tell me a sob story, I’ll still get you to the church,” Taylor said. The wind in her face made it easy to ignore that her clothes were getting covered in tears and snot. “Everyone has their own circumstances. I’m not going to judge you for them.” 

“We were told all demons were bad, and all the Fallen Angels had to be killed, but the other churches were cowards,” Mara continued. 

“The true cowards are the Angels,” Taylor said, Raynare’s thoughts creeping into her voice. Even so, Taylor could appreciate the perspective. While the churches fought each other over how to handle Fallen, the Angels were sitting on their golden thrones. “Making humans fight their battles for them. Pitiful.” 

“They’re wrong,” Mara said. “Not all of you are bad.” 

Taylor would disagree. While Robinson spoke of her virtue that defied absolute virtue, and Mr. Lavere called her too soft-hearted, she still had troubles seeing herself as anything other than Taylor Hebert: fuckup extraordinaire. 

When she finally saw the church, Taylor stifled a sigh of relief. Mara’s grip around her was tightening. When they landed in front of the doors, Mara didn’t let go. 

“Mara,” Taylor said. “We’re there.” 

Mara’s grip tightened even more. The girl’s strength was certainly remarkable—supernaturally so—but not to the degree where Taylor felt like she was being strangled. 

“You don’t like churches?” 

Mara nodded into her shoulder. What a concept, an exorcist afraid of churches. No, that was dismissive. Taylor could easily see the reality of the situation. An abused child that was afraid of something that looked like home. 

The fluttering of wings behind her made her stop. Raynare’s usual warning didn’t come, which either meant that this wasn’t a threat, Raynare wanted her to fight some more, or the worst case scenario: enemies that could fool Raynare’s instincts. Mara tucked her head further into Taylor’s shoulder, as if trying to hide. 

Taylor turned. A man stood there on the church’s front lawn, dressed in the finest robes. 

And she said robes because even among church and angel fashion, the ones she was seeing now looked both fancy and stupid. The fact that behind him rose two batlike wings made her doubt he was either. 

She breathed in. Rot and ashes, sulphur and shame. It gave her a headache. 

“Good evening, Ms. Hebert,” he said. Taylor narrowed her eyes. “Or I suppose it’s night, or perhaps morning in a few minutes?”  


“I don’t think I have any business with devils,” Taylor said. She didn’t need other people’s memories to guess what made angels feel queasy just by existing. Raynare walked around him, looking him up and down. He was attractive, with slicked-back black hair and sungold feathers adorning his white and red robes. 

“On the contrary, we have business with you,” he said. Taylor wished she had brought the sword with her. 

“He’s pretty strong,” Raynare said. “Probably a bit too much for you right now. Play nice.” 

She hated playing nice with self-righteous assholes. 

“Business with me?” Taylor asked. She put Mara down and nudged her slightly in the direction of the church, but she only clung to Taylor’s leg, which made the whole thing more annoying. If it came to a fight, she didn’t want to drag someone unrelated in. 

Or well, unrelated inasmuch as she could claim an exorcist was when facing a devil. 

“I wish to apologize for the rather… crude attack on you, today,” he said. “My name is Darius Caim. I am a son of… I suppose the president would be the appropriate word for humans? A few of my servants have done something to harm you and yours, and we wish to assure you that we did not mean it. We have made sure to correct their mistake. They will not be making it again.”  


This wasn’t an apology to her. 

This was an apology to Mr. Lavere, through her. 

Maybe asking Robinson for help had been a bit more than she could handle, after all. But in the same vein, she had also brought her problems to Mr. Lavere’s doorstep. 

“That doesn’t sound like ‘I’m sorry this happened’,” Taylor said, crossing her arms. “It sounds like a ‘sorry we got caught’ or perhaps a ‘we wouldn’t be having this conversation if they had succeeded’.” 

To his credit, Caim didn’t look insulted, though the gleam in his eyes made it clear she had struck some kind of nerve. Raynare appeared next to Taylor, whistling at the biting response. 

“A leader’s capability is reflected in the ability of those under them,” Raynare said, clarifying the miniscule emotion visible in his face. “You basically just called him incompetent to his face.” 

Taylor wouldn’t apologize, but it was nice to know for the next time. 

“I suppose it might sound like that to you. Regardless, there is a matter I would like to discuss. If you’re otherwise indisposed, I’m more than willing to postpone it until a later date.” 

“Ow, you really hurt his pride there.” Raynare’s merry announcement made Taylor twitch. “He’s really good at not showing it, but he’s pissed. You weren’t the first one to question his authority today. You wanna really piss him off? Bring up his father.” 

“Another day is fine by me. I _have_ had a rather long day today,” Taylor said, ignoring the obvious pitfall in the conversation. “I don’t suppose this matter could be summarized in a few words?” 

“I’m afraid not,” he said, that glint subsiding. “Kokabiel is on the move. He believes that now, after all the Watchers have been found, Azazel shall awaken and aim his sword towards Heaven.” 

“And you want Mr. Lavere to deal with him?” 

  
“Negotiations, nothing more. But nothing that has to be done today. Thank you for your time, Ms. Hebert.” 

A red seal, writing in a language Taylor didn’t recognise and that stabbed into her brain like an icepick when she tried to read it anyway, appeared under the man, and he vanished into nothing. Mara’s whimper reminded Taylor of what she’d _actually_ come here to do, so she turned, all but shoving the girl into the church. 

Robinson was sitting on a pew, reading his bible. Did that man ever sleep? 

#### 

It was perhaps Kokabiel’s greatest pleasure, the sight of the stars through the invention he had brought the humans so long ago. They had refined it, improved it until they could see the surfaces of planets with it. He thought very little of humanity, but he did respect their ingenuity. 

Some said the fate was written in the stars. Kokabiel wouldn’t be one of them. One could discern from certain patterns and movements that events were about to transpire, but rather than the stars deciding them, it was the events that caused the stars to move. 

A small pebble in a large pond causing ripples throughout the cosmos. 

He stabbed a knife into a table, in the eyes of a picture of Mr. Lavere. 

“People treat him like a hero,” Kokabiel said to the Fallen in front of him, all kneeling in reverence. “Like one of the old legends who slayed dragons and conquered kingdoms. He fought for decades, killed so many humans that if the deal with a Jinn hadn’t turned him into a monster, he would have turned into one all by himself. From the West Coast all the way to his city, the churches speak his name with fear. But what do we have to fear?”  


“Nothing!” everyone shouted in unison. 

“Then what are we waiting for?” 

“Nothing!” 

“Then go, Azazel’s Servants! We will kill him, pave the way for Azazel to return to us! And when the churches come for us with their pathetic exorcists who were too afraid to aim at the Mad Marquis, it will be us who stand atop their corpses!” 

With an affirmative shout, the men and women gathered in front him stood and vanished. 

A lone man remained, standing behind Kokabiel with a folder in his hands. 

“This will cause war,” he said. Kokabiel grinned, flashing razor-sharp teeth. 

“What is one more war on the journey to victory?” Kokabiel asked. “Once he is dead, the biggest threat to us is gone. What are you so afraid of, Shemhazai?” 

“I would hardly call him the biggest, though his role is rather significant,” Shemhazai said. “But you are so certain of your victory that you have no perspective of what would happen if you fail.” 

“You imply failure is possible for me,” Kokabiel said, putting a heavy hand on Shemhazai’s shoulder. “But you know me better than that. I’m never without a plan. If I can’t fight him on equal grounds, I just need to position myself better.”  


“As you say, sir,” Shemhazai said. He revealed his own wings, four of them. “I gave the leadership to Azazel to avoid making such difficult decisions, after all. I am here to give advice—but if you wish to hear none of it, please indulge in your war, and whatever it is you sow, I’ll observe, and record it for posterity.” 

##### 

Thanks somn and mags 


	11. By His Mercy

Mr. Lavere hadn’t come back in the time she’d been gone. By the time Taylor had returned, Amelia was sitting in the kitchen eating pizza. Not being the kind of person who’d question someone’s choice for comfort food, or the time of day at which they would eat it, Taylor sat down next to her. 

“How are you holding up?” Taylor asked. Raynare lounged on the chair opposite them, watching them both with one hand on her chin. Amelia swallowed a bite and sighed. 

“Today’s one of those days, you know?” Amelia said. Taylor nodded, suppressing a smile. She knew exactly. “I think I’ll be fine, I bounce back from stuff like this quickly. I just need more pizza.” 

“Delivery at three in the morning sounds like a bit much, even for this city,” Taylor said. Amelia did look fine, at least. Her hair was a bit more frizzled than usual, but she had rested well, it seemed. “We kinda ditched our purchases, didn’t we?” 

“Dad sent someone to pick up whatever’s left, we should get it by Monday,” Amelia assured her. “You want a slice?” 

“I’m not very hungry right now,” Taylor lied. “I’ve been up all night, I really need to go to sleep.” 

“Don’t let me hold you up then. I’ve slept all day, I think I can do without for a few more hours.” 

Taylor didn’t need much sleep, if any. What she needed was time to unwind. This entire day had gone too fast. Too many things had happened at once. Too many pieces had fallen into place. And all that because she was in the unfortunate circumstances of having been born with a crazy stalker attached to her soul. 

“Good night,” Taylor said, standing up. 

“It’s good morning,” Amelia said, biting into yet another slice. Almost tripping over two boxes already on the ground, Taylor made her way to her room, the gluttonous princess left behind to entertain herself with the TV. 

Lying down, for once she was rewarded with a dreamless sleep. 

### 

Taylor didn’t know what she’d expected when she went back to the dining room the next morning, but it wasn’t Amelia, with bags under her eyes, trying to solve a crossword puzzle. The TV was on, though the volume was lowered enough that the slightest noise drowned it out. 

“You look like shit,” Taylor said. Raynare leaking. Fuck. Amelia groaned. 

“I know, but I—ugh.” Amelia’s words stumbled on their way from her brain to her mouth, and she groaned, looking up at the ceiling. “If I go to sleep now, you bet I won’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow for school—” 

“It’s fine to take a few days off school, you know?” 

“For you maybe, but we have this cute transfer student, and I still haven’t managed to get her number so I _need_ to be there. I can’t sit around traumatized.” 

“You know, I was wondering why you seemed to get over it so quickly, but if it’s eyecandy, I suppose I understand,” Taylor said, nodding. Raynare nodded along, no doubt appreciating the honesty. After all, wasn’t it said that the more tired you were, the more you became who you really were? 

Taylor was nonetheless surprised when Amelia’s response was a rude gesture. 

“Dad came home earlier, he had to go again,” Amelia said. “He left this for you.” 

She shoved a small box forward. Taylor opened it, a shiny new phone sitting inside. He _had_ said that she needed a phone but… that seemed a bit too much. Too expensive. 

“See? We’re basically family,” Amelia said, grinning. It looked a bit scary, considering the hair hanging over her face and the dead-fish eyes. “I’m sure he’ll buy you more stuff if you call him daddy.” 

Taylor shuddered. Raynare began laughing. Loudly. “Never say that again. Want a coffee? I can make you one. If you try to do it I fear for the cups.” 

“Sure, sure,” Amelia said. Taylor pocketed the phone, checking the address book. Mr. Lavere’s number, along with Amelia’s, had already been saved. Fortunate. Turning towards the kitchen, she rummaged through the cupboards as Amelia raised the volume of the TV. 

Finally finding the instant coffee, because God forbid she touched something as expensive looking as the coffee machine after getting a phone like that, Taylor started boiling some water. 

“Hey, Taylor!” Amelia called. Taylor turned around. 

“I’m right here, no need to shout, what’s uuu—fuck.” 

Taylor’s face was on the TV, as was a picture someone had taken at school. Raven black wings were visible in the shot, spreading from her back. Taylor had heard that sometimes, the PRT was able to set an embargo on information about public trigger events involving minors. It seemed her time was up. 

“The latest reports from the incident at Winslow High seem to confirm that the missing girl has received parahuman powers. She has not been seen in public since then—” 

Taylor frowned. Miss Militia and Sophia had seen her last night, hadn’t they? Or perhaps that information had been kept from the media. 

“Reports on Miss Hebert are conflicting, with some claiming that she has shown nothing but the best behavior, and others calling her a bully and other pejoratives that indicate cases of mental illness. Teachers at Winslow have refused to comment on the matter—” 

Taylor watched Amelia’s reaction. There was nothing on her face. No surprise, no anger, no realization. 

“You knew?” Taylor asked. 

“You tanked bullets with your back. I was crying, not blind or deaf,” Amelia said. Taylor rolled her eyes. So much for keeping it a secret. Or maybe this was better; having Amelia think she was parahuman rather than anything else would make it easier to keep up the masquerade for just a little bit longer. “I… still haven’t thanked you for that.” 

Taylor would have insisted that thanking her wasn’t necessary, but considering Amelia’s current state, she held her tongue. “You’re welcome. You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

“No, I have to, it’s… let me grab the coffee.” 

Taylor sighed, sitting down. She hated Brockton Bay’s local news station. 

“Miss Hebert follows an interesting pattern,” random expert number two, who looked more like a blogger than anything else, spoke up. “All around the world, there have been cases of people with black wings—three of them, including her, in our country.” 

“You speak of Starsworn and the Lament, of course,” the news anchor said. Taylor frowned. The Lament? She had heard of that hero group. Their leader was… Fallen? “Both of them formed a rather sizeable group after revealing themselves to the world; do you think this will happen here as well?” 

“It’s too early to tell. With so few data points, calling it an expected pattern would be—” 

Taylor turned the TV off. Amelia returned, having poured her a cup as well. What was it with this family and coffee? The older girl was quiet, raising the steaming cup to her lips every once in a while. They sat in a companionable silence for a bit, the minutes going by with nothing filling them but the occasional clunk of a cup being set down on the coffee table. Taylor enjoyed silence, even if it usually meant that Raynare was plotting something. 

“Did Dad know?” Amelia asked, breaking the quiet. Taylor’s mouth twitched as her first instinct told her to deny it, to try to keep the image Amelia had of her father clean. 

“Y-yeah,” Taylor said, deciding it’d be better not to lie. “He’s a good person. He helped me when he didn’t have to. Don’t be mad at him for lying.” 

“I can’t be mad,” Amelia said. “Things make a lot more sense suddenly if he’s involved in some stuff and he doesn’t want _me_ involved in it too. I get that. I just wish he would be honest about it for once.” 

“Yeah,” Taylor said, looking over at the smiling Raynare. “I get that. I don’t think you need to hide that you know about me from him, considering it was on the news, but maybe ease him into it? Definitely don’t rush into the other stuff.” 

“Yeah. I’ll have to confront him eventually. Better sooner than later, right?” 

“That makes one of you,” Taylor muttered, standing up, the cup of coffee largely untouched. “I’ve got something to do today, so I won’t here for a while.” 

Amelia leapt to her feet so quickly her chair hit the ground, and sprinted toward the front door. 

Taylor ran after her, wondering what was going on. It was when Amelia turned around, slamming her back against the door with her arms spread wide, that Taylor realized what she was doing. 

“Are… are you locking me in?”  


Raynare started laughing again, only this time in full view of Taylor, holding her stomach as she keeled over into fits of giggles. 

“I can’t let you go,” Amelia said. Thanks to the sleep deprivation and stress, she spoke so quickly Taylor could barely follow. “People are coming after you, aren’t they?” 

“I’ll disguise myself,” Taylor said, trying to calm the other girl down. “I just have to check something, my best friend might be there—” 

“Won’t they find you? Just tell her to come here—” 

“Not with my phone in this state, and not… when they might be checking her phone for me as well. Amelia, please—”  


“You idiot,” Raynare said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “You really haven’t noticed, have you?” 

Taylor frowned at her. Only Amelia reacted to the expression, lowering her gaze. Taylor stepped forward, reaching out. 

Why was it that she was getting reasonable advice from Raynare of all people? 

Or was she just so far gone from “normal” that she had already forgotten what it meant to be human? 

Amelia looked up when Taylor’s hand touched her shoulder, looking even more worn down than before. If the situation wasn’t so dire, she’d have told her to become an actress. 

“You have to say what you want, or I won’t know,” Taylor said. Talking “sternly” was not exactly something she had much practice in. Bitchy, yes. Well-meaning? Not so much. Regardless, it seemed to be getting through. “Amelia?” 

“Don’t leave me alone here,” Amelia said, sounding not unlike Mara had just a few hours ago. “Please.” 

Maybe instead of acting, a therapist might be better. Then again, considering hers… 

“It’s fine,” Taylor said. “Just come with me. If anything happens, I can protect you. You want me to walk you to school tomorrow?” 

“That’d be nice, yeah,” Amelia said. Raynare began laughing again, leaning onto Amelia. Taylor moved her arm to slap Raynare away, giving Amelia space to wrap her arms around Taylor. “Who’s the big sister between us now, huh?” 

Taylor patted the other girl on the back. “You need to talk to your dad about this. You can’t stay afraid forever, you know?” 

“I know.” Amelia’s grip tightened. “I know.” 

### 

It was early Sunday, so the mall was basically empty. The entrances were open, but the shops themselves were still all dark and shuttered. 

Taylor had given herself the most inconspicuous getup she had: a school stabber Greg-chic hoodie, and pants so wide she needed a belt to keep them up. Amelia was, after a shower and some makeup, at least somewhat presentable. Considering the brand-name clothes on her, she would’ve stood out either way. 

Luckily, nobody else was there. Not this early on a Sunday. There was a moment, as they stood at the mall’s entrance, staring into its darkened interior, that Taylor felt Amelia move close, their shoulders touching. She could feel Amelia tremble slightly before she straightened, and the pair of them moved past the threshold. Luckily, the burger shop where Sophia had gotten her that first burger in a long time was in the food court, right by the entrance, so they wouldn’t have to go far. 

Taylor sat down at one of the empty tables outside the burger joint and waited, the edge of the worn plastic table digging into her back. Amelia took the seat next to her, not saying anything. 

Before long, soft steps echoed from farther within the mall, drawing their attention. She looked like she always had—dark hair, dark skin, a sleek jaw and even sleeker muscles—but to Taylor it felt like a breath of fresh air. Taylor pulled off her hood, standing up. 

When Sophia reached them, no words were spoken. Sophia’s arms wrapped around Taylor, much more forceful than Amelia had been earlier today. Taylor enjoyed the familiar warmth, and hugged her back. 

It took Amelia’s awkward cough to make her realize, what felt like minutes later, that Sophia wasn’t letting go. Taylor patted Sophia on the back. 

“Sophia, it’s fine,” Taylor said. “You can let go, I’m not just going to run away.” 

Reluctantly, Sophia loosened her grip, allowing Taylor to step out of the hug. Sophia rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes, unwilling to show any tears, as usual. 

“It’s really you,” Sophia said, smiling. “You actually came.” 

“I wasn’t lying,” Taylor said. “I really do want some burgers, but this place isn’t any good on a Sunday, huh?” 

Sophia laughed. Amelia didn’t say anything, but Taylor could see her awkwardly shuffling around, feeling out of place. 

“Sophia, this is… Amy,” Taylor said, introducing the other girl. “She knows I’m a cape. It’s kind of a long story but I’m staying with her for now.” 

“Doesn’t look like the gi—” Sophia began. Taylor quickly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, stopping the other girl quickly. Sophia got the message loud and clear. “So quick to replace me, huh? I feel hurt. Hi, I’m Sophia.” 

Amelia nodded at her. Despite her usual outgoing nature, she obviously seemed lost on what to do with Sophia. “Pleasure to meet you. Don’t mind me, you have lots to catch up on, right?” 

“Some,” Taylor said, pulling out her new phone. Sophia raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “You got any phone you’re sure isn’t tracked?” 

Sophia nodded. Taking the offered phone that her best friend pulled out of her jacket, Taylor added the number to the address book and handed it back. 

“Thank you,” Sophia said, looking at Amelia. The Lavere blinked, not sure what to make of the sudden exclamation. “For taking care of her when I couldn’t, I mean. She’s a bit of a handful, but she’s a nice girl.” 

“It’s mostly my dad who helps her,” Amelia said, looking away. “No need to thank me. I’ve got to thank her for everything she’s done for me.” 

“You’re the only other friend she has right now,” Sophia said, making Taylor frown. It wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t have to phrase it like _that_. “If you ever need someone to beat someone up behind the school, call me. I’ll be sure to help out.” 

“That’s an offer I can get behind,” Amelia said. Taylor snorted. “I’ll leave you two alone for a bit. Private conversations should stay private, right?” 

Sophia nodded before Taylor could say anything. Smiling a reassuring smile, much more bright than before, Amelia walked away. Raynare winked at Taylor and Sophia before trailing away behind Amelia. 

“She looks half-dead,” Sophia said once Amelia was out of earshot. Taylor nodded. “Everything alright?” 

“Someone emptied a gun at us while we were shopping,” Taylor said. “I blocked them all, but she’s a bit too scared to go around alone right now.” 

“That’s… wait, that was you? At the shopping district?” 

“Yeah, long story. Anyway,” Taylor said, waving her off.“You doing okay? I hope I didn’t get you into trouble by running away with the girl.” 

“Nothing too serious, we kinda lied on the report,” Sophia said. “Don’t tell Miss M that I told you that, though. She’s usually kind of a stickler for the rules.” 

“I get that, don’t worry.” Taylor nodded, sitting down again. Sophia sat next to her. Amelia was walking around a few stores down, peeking in past their shutters, looking as if she had never been in a mall this empty before. Raynare was just behind her, tracing her fingers over the girl’s upper back. It would be sensual, creepily so, if Taylor didn’t know that was the same place her own wings sprung from. Instead it was just plain creepy. “I got into a mess, a really bad one. The PRT can’t help me with this.”  


“What do you mean?” Sophia said. “If you explain everything to them, I’m sure they can pull you out of your home—” 

“No, it’s… more serious than just that,” Taylor said. She leaned over, her voice a hushed whisper. “I’m not a parahuman.” 

Sophia looked doubtful for a moment. The expression melted into one of pain, her teeth audibly grinding together. “You mean the whole angel thing?” 

“You’re the only person I can trust,” Taylor said, laying her heart open. “The only person I’d be able to explain this to and not dismiss me as crazy. All this shit? Fallen Angels, demons, exorcists? They’re real. The girl from yesterday was one of them, she tried to kill me.” 

“Well no shit she did, that was a big-ass sword for a kid that small,” Sophia said, trying and failing to keep her voice from slipping into a pained whisper. “Are you going to be alright?” 

“The man’s that protecting me right now, Amy’s dad, he’s really strong. I think I should be fine as long as I’m staying with him.” 

“And you don’t think the PRT and Protectorate can do that?” 

“I don’t _want_ them to do it,” Taylor said. “Because once they know all about this? Once they know about the spooks that haunt the night and all these things in those crazy scriptures are real? There’s no turning back.” 

The situation wasn’t that much different from Mr. Lavere’s hesitation to tell Amelia anything, but in Taylor’s case, she was protecting people who could protect themselves. Not because she feared for their safety, but for their sanity. Sophia… Sophia would understand. 

“That’s a lot of shit on your plate, huh?” Sophia asked. Taylor nodded. “What are you gonna do now?” 

“Settle in for now. There’s this group that I might be able to join, but I don’t _want_ to leave the city, so at the moment I’m just kinda hanging around.”  


“From the price tag on that phone and her brand clothes, I’m gonna guess you’re not hanging around in the slums.” 

Taylor grinned. “You jealous? PRT not paying well?” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Ninety percent of what I get goes into some college fund like I’m actually going to study something instead of being a full time hero. Pretty sure you don’t get a degree in asskicking from anything but the school of hard knocks, and I’m damn well gonna pay mine forward.The rest goes into my diet.” 

“Two burgers, five slices of pie, and a milkshake every day?” 

“And I still look like a goddess, so fuck you.” Sophia jabbed Taylor’s side with her fingers. She played along, saying ‘ow’ when it didn’t hurt. “I guess we can meet up more often now that I got your number. Amelia… how much does she know?” 

“Nothing about the supernatural stuff—her dad would kill me if she finds out from me so don’t say anything.” 

“I’m sure he’s not that bad.” 

“No, really,” Taylor said, leaning in. Amelia was far enough away that she didn’t need to, but her next words came with a whisper anyway. “The church calls him Mad Marquis.” 

“Like that villain who mysteriously vanished years ago? Used to be big.” 

“Not _like_ ,” Taylor said. “I think he _is_ him. He looks the right age, and he killed almost sixty people who tried to hurt his daughter. That exorcist from yesterday? She almost pissed herself when she _saw_ him.” 

Sophia swallowed a lump in her throat. “You sure you wanna stick around that guy?” 

“He’s really nice once you get to know him, just not if you hurt his daughter.” 

Sophia took a second to look at Amelia, and Taylor could see it in Sophia’s face as she mentally revised her opinion of the girl. “You’re insane.” 

“Clinically, yes, I have that on paper,” Taylor said. Sophia laughed, despite her obvious discomfort at the topic. “There’s a bit of a mess coming this way, and I don’t want you caught up in it. I just wanted you to know that I’m alright.” 

“What about your mom?” 

“What about her?” Taylor’s voiced turned harsh. “She’s… not okay with a kid that’s not normal, right? Well, since I’m even less normal than before, she can just go fuck off and get back together with Dad now that she’s finally gotten rid of me.” 

“She worries,” Sophia said, a little gingerly. Taylor crossed her arms. “Believe me, she’s a bitch, but she’s obviously fucked up over what happened. I went to visit her before I knew what happened to you. She looked worse than your friend here.”  


“If she gave a fuck earlier, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place,” Taylor said. The finality in her voice made Sophia grumble, but she didn’t push. “There are people coming after me, but also people who might attack Amy to get her dad. I’m telling you this so you don’t dig too deep.” 

“I won’t, but I can’t let you handle this on your own,” Sophia said. “If you _ever_ need help, I don’t care at what time, I don’t care about what I’m doing at that moment. If you call me I’ll come, alright?” 

“Thank you,” Taylor said, hugging her. Raynare appeared right in her field of vision, smiling. “And you can fuck off.” 

Sophia turned around, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. “Still her?” 

“Yeah, only now I have the wings on,” Taylor said. “And she’s still insufferable. I have to ask for a favor. I left the exorcist, Mara, at Robinson’s church. Can you check if everything’s fine there? I don’t want to visit him too often because the exorcists might be watching.” 

“Why’d you leave her there? Isn’t she out to kill you?” 

“Whoever sent her drugged her up and forced her to do the job. I don’t know if it’s their leaders, or someone who just didn’t want to handle it pushing it on to her. I’m not comfortable with blaming a child—” 

“Yeah, I get it, alright,” Sophia interrupted before she rambled too much. When it came to dosing children with various shit, Taylor had never been one to keep her cool. Raynare tapped her shoulder, pointing at something. Turning her head, Taylor could see a slowly-widening red circle appear on the wall between two nearby shops. The smell, brimstone and whatever the scent equivalent of nausea was, made her nose wrinkle. 

“Okay, one more favor,” Taylor said, letting her arms drop from around Sophia and standing up quickly. “Take Amy on a walk, tell her I’m going to be there in five minutes.” 

Sophia didn’t hesitate or question her. She stood up and walked across the food court to where Amelia was standing. The red circle vanished when a man in white robes stepped out. 

“I give you five minutes before Mr. Lavere is here,” Taylor said. Darius Caim did not look worried. If anything, he seemed pleased with himself. “What do you want, Caim?” 

“I’m here to give you my offer, in exchange for something of equal value, of course. Are you not interested?” 

“Nothing you have to offer would appeal to me,” Taylor said. She drew a deep breath, letting Raynare’s voice and behavior take the lead for the moment. “You’re powerful enough that nothing I can give you is something you can’t get on your own.” 

“It’s more an inevitability that you will receive what I wish for,” Caim said. “Kokabiel’s corpse, once the Lavere’s butcher has slain him.” 

Taylor narrowed her eyes. “And in exchange?” 

“Once I take over my house, the loyalty of my house, to serve you and yours—” 

“Two-faced,” a voice rang out. Taylor turned around. Sophia and Amelia were gone, but in their place stood a woman, two _massive_ black wings visible over her shoulders. She’d thought, once, that Kokabiel’s wings were like an army’s banners. They had nothing on these, so thick and dark they seemed to blot out the sky behind her. Raynare’s eyes widened for a moment before her face split into a massive grin. “Silver-tongued, treacherous, _arrogant_. But worst of all, someone who would stab their own flesh and blood in the back.” 

“Natasha Lavere,” Caim said. Taylor could _smell_ his fear. The Fallen took a step forward, and he stood a step back. 

Her eyes reminded Taylor of Amelia’s light brown—no, _amber_. The hair matched, flowing in thick strands of red with every step. Weren’t two-winged angels supposed to be weak? 

Raynare’s grin didn’t drop from her face when she answered the unvoiced thought. “Fallen grow as they dominate and defeat those stronger than them. Oh, how I’ve missed that stern face! That demanding voice! I can see it, why that butcher fell in love with her! If she hadn’t Fallen, would she not equal Michael himself with her beauty?” 

Natasha raised her hand, a ring of fire glowing in front of her. It sung to Taylor’s soul like the choirs of Heaven themselves, fierce and bright and _powerful_. Caim didn’t manage to take another step before a circle appeared under him and he vanished. 

She dropped the ring, her wings slowly retracting into her back. The world seemed less when both were gone. She was almost normal: still beautiful, but the sense of wonder and awe was turning into a more human-like splendor. No longer a statue’s unrelenting perfection, but the quieter loveliness of the woman who inspired it. Not the angel, whose title Taylor did not know and Raynare refused to speak—Natasha Lavere, who had named herself in the fashion of her people rather than her species. 

Such a contrast to Raynare, who wore her humanity as a bruise, only ever seen when she’d been wounded. And yet, it was that very angel who had jumped up and down in joy at seeing Natasha. At seeing someone who had _succeeded_ in loving humanity. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Natasha said. Taylor blinked, trying to shake herself out of her thoughts. She took a step back, watching the older Fallen with a suspicious eye. “Mostly letters and a few news reports.” 

“You’re his wife,” Taylor said. “I thought you were dead and he was just—” 

“He’s a hard man with a fragile heart.” Natasha’s smile was almost blinding. A part of Taylor—or maybe it wasn’t _Taylor_ at all—wanted nothing more than to make someone else smile about her like that. “Some would blame that as weakness, born from raising Amelia, but I think it shows his strength. If I were dead, he’d not have lied about it.” 

Taylor furrowed her brows. “Why are you here then?” 

“Some business.” Natasha’s smile didn’t falter. Taylor rolled her eyes—there was the Lavere answer she was expecting. Perhaps Mr. Lavere had learned it from Mrs. Lavere, just as Amelia had learned it from him. “I have some people to check in with, but I’ll be—” 

Five circles appeared on the walls. Red, glowing, and with no little bit of maliciousness coming off them. Five men dressed in what looked like servant’s robes stepped through, demonic bat-like wings sprouting from the middle of their backs. 

They weren’t nearly as strong as Caim, but still a bit above Taylor’s paygrade. She could feel the heat radiate off them as they prepared for an attack, smell the rot their power brought into the world. 

“A ward against flame?” Natasha asked. Her wings came back, the five devils almost knocked back by the gust of hot wind that accompanied them. “How cute. Taylor, would you mind checking on Amelia? I’m afraid I can’t trust the likes of Caim to have her best interest at heart.” 

“But—” 

“I’ll catch up,” Natasha told her. Every syllable slid over her ears like silk. Confidence and strength. Taylor shook her head, taking steps backwards from the fight. “Taylor Hebert, please return to my daughter’s side and make sure nothing happens.” 

Taylor moved without a second thought. The woman smiled again. Raynare’s sheer _joy_ at seeing her had been the kind of happiness only equal to her disdain of Kokabiel. It was how she knew Raynare’s words to be true. 

She could absolutely see why Mr. Lavere, _Marquis_ , would fall in love with with a woman like that. 

She could see the same in Raynare, when she wasn’t a vicious monster who tore at Taylor’s very heartstrings for her own enjoyment. The kind of beauty that wouldn’t launch a thousand ships, because their crews would be too busy shipping themselves with _her_. The kind of beauty that would see empires fall to ruin just to please it. 

The kind of beauty that wasn’t kind at all, and only lovelier for it. 

When Taylor caught up to Sophia and Amelia, she’d calmed down enough to school her features. 

What was she going to say? 

_Hey Amelia, I just met your mom?_

She decided to stay quiet. Just for now. She could figure it all out once she talked to Mr. Lavere. 

#### 


	12. Moonlit Revelations

Sophia had left them halfway to the Lavere home. Besides the interruption by that devil, Taylor would have said that the day had gone quite well so far. Amelia looked happy and relaxed, in stark contrast to her earlier anxiety. 

Raynare was all but dancing in joy. 

The smell of cinders was in the air. Taylor knew that Natasha had caught up already, clearly waiting for the girls to get home. When they opened the front doors, Mr. Lavere was visible, sitting at the dining room table. It seemed he hadn’t had time to sleep or clean up either, since he was still wearing the same clothes he’d had on yesterday. Unlike his daughter, he took to it rather gracefully. 

Amelia stepped up to him, relieved. “You’re finally home.” 

“Yes, I’m sorry. There was some business that couldn’t wait,” Mr. Lavere said, standing up. She gave him a hug. 

“You need a shower,” she said. He laughed. “I’m… still not okay about what happened yesterday.” 

“If you need anything, all you need to do is ask.” 

Taylor shuffled around awkwardly, not unlike Amelia had done just earlier when she’d had her reunion with Sophia., but before things could get too awkward, there was a soft knock at the door, followed by the doorbell being rung. Mr. Lavere let go of his daughter, stepping towards the door with a hand near his neck. Taylor took it as a cue to get Amelia away from the door, but despite his usual caution, Mr. Lavere opened the door. 

It was Natasha, her wings hidden, wearing a tailored suit and a beautiful smile. 

“You’re… back,” he said. Natasha nodded, stepping forward and embracing him in a near-tackle. With her arms pinning Mr. Lavere’s own to his sides, she lifted him up, spinning him around like he was a child. Taylor could see the expression on his face; even Raynare’s joy and ecstasy hadn’t been anything compared to the pure bliss that radiated off him. While he was usually standoffish and collected, with the occasional slip when it concerned his daughters, he looked like an entirely different man now. 

“What the fuck,” Amelia whispered. Taylor looked away, trying not to let on that she knew. 

When the two adults in the room actually regained some semblance of maturity, Natasha dropped Mr. Lavere to his feet. She scanned the room with a wide smile, stepping forward towards Amelia. 

Amelia hid behind Taylor, her hands on Taylor’s arm. 

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said. Hearing an angel apologize sent shivers down Taylor’s spine. “I’ve… not been there for you when you needed me the most. I don’t think I can make up for all that lost time—” 

“Who are you?” Amelia asked from over Taylor’s shoulder, her voice blunt. Natasha’s surprised expression held for just a second before it melted into one of understanding. 

“Of course, you wouldn’t know,” Natasha said. Taylor expected hurt in her voice, but she was not unlike Mr. Lavere, seemingly serene. “I’m your mother.” 

Amelia’s grip on Taylor’s arm tightened. Mr. Lavere finally decided to return to earth and moved to stand next to his wife. 

“Amelia,” Mr. Lavere said. “Remember what I told you about your mother?” 

“You said she had to leave us because of something dangerous,” Amelia said. “I just… thought you were lying to protect me.” 

“Now’s your chance,” Taylor said. Amelia didn’t seem so much upset as confused. People reacted differently to things, of course, and Amelia was no doubt too exhausted to spend the emotional energy on something as temporary as anger. “Your once in a lifetime first hug with your mom.” 

Amalie stepped out of her hiding spot, letting go of Taylor’s arm. Natasha didn’t hesitate, wrapping the girl up in her arms. It was a soft, gentle touch, in contrast to the manhandling she had given her husband. 

For a man as bulky as that, she’d sure swung him around easily. Not that he seemed to be complaining. 

“It’s so cute,” Raynare said, cooing at the family. “You think if we have a kid, we can hug her like that?” 

‘We’. Taylor grimaced. Not going to happen anytime soon, for sure. 

Mr. Lavere left Natasha and Amelia to hug it out and walked back to the kitchen stove, smiling gently. Taylor followed him after he passed her, frowning. 

“A devil called Caim approached me yesterday,” Taylor said. “Also today, but your wife helped me. He wanted a deal because of Kokabiel.” 

“You didn’t agree to anything, I hope,” Mr. Lavere said. He just looked so _radiant_ , so _happy_. It was that ideal that Taylor could only pray to achieve. Was marriage that good? It didn’t seem to be that way for _her_ parents. “Devils are tricky beings. I’d rather make ten deals with Jinn than one with them.” 

“He could’ve offered me the world and I’d have said no,” Taylor said, crossing her arms. “I’m already too deep in this mess. I don’t need stupid demons with pretentious names collecting my soul or something on top of everything else.” Taylor glanced back towards the front door. “Shouldn’t you be with them?” 

They turned their heads towards the duo, who had decided to sit down at the dinner table, talking. Talking very fast, speaking about so much. The longer they spoke, the more Amelia opened up. If only everyone could have such an easy time dealing with surprises. 

“I haven’t seen her in almost sixteen years,” he said. “But I’ve written letters, and sometimes she sent me some as well. They need this more than I do.” 

“Just her being here is already enough for you, isn’t it?” Taylor asked. Raynare was sitting across the mother-daughter pair, smiling at them with her elbows on the table and her hands propping up her chin. Mr. Lavere nodded at the question. “But… why _is_ she here? Kokabiel?” 

“She works with the Lament, to protect Amelia,” he said. “Fallen and devils alike have been hesitant to make a move. The church were the only ones foolish enough to try, so I took care of them. But now that Kokabiel is coming here, there is no reason to handle these things in the background.” 

“Is she going to tell her?” 

“She is,” Mr. Lavere said. Though the happiness was there, pain leaked into his voice. “And I have dreaded this day as much as I have looked forward to it. She’ll know, and I’m afraid of her reaction. You said I should’ve eased her into this, and you weren’t wrong. It was my cowardice that made me hesitant.” 

“It’s not cowardice to care for your child,” Taylor insisted. 

“If only it were so easy,” he said. “No parent is ever certain whether they’ve made the right choice or not, and so often it’s not even up to us to decide: it’s our children who’ll make it clear to us, one way or another.” 

Taylor frowned. “Considering my mother wasn’t apologetic at all about having me on antipsychotics for most of my life, I really doubt you’re going to win any prizes at the worst parent competition this year.” 

Mr. Lavere’s laughter was what made Amelia and Natasha turn around in strangely-adorable sync, and he smiled as they did. 

“I’ll prepare some lunch. Do you want anything specific?” 

Amelia put her head on the table, sighing. “It’s barely lunchtime, but this day feels like it was forty hours long.” 

“Go to bed, dear,” Natasha said. Amelia groaned. “I’ll be there when you wake up. There’s still so much you need to hear, but I won’t let you skip sleep because of it.” 

“I’m fine,” Amelia said. “I still have school tomorrow—” 

“Could you help her to bed?” Mr. Lavere asked Taylor, over his daughter’s protests. Taylor nodded, moving towards the girl. She couldn’t resist much when Taylor pulled her along, gently but firmly. “Make sure she actually goes to sleep, since she has a habit of saying one thing and doing the other.” 

“Yessir,” Taylor mock saluted, one of her hands still on Amy’s wrist as she brought her to her room. Amelia kept groaning even when Taylor knocked her onto the bed, closing the blinds. 

“Hey, Taylor,” Amelia said after a moment, one arm over her eyes. “What’s your mom like? You said you don’t get along.” 

Taylor sat down next to her. The bed was the same one as in the guest room, though the interior here wasn’t quite as spartan. “She’s been convinced I’m a nutcase, so she had me on drugs over half my life. My dad left us because I wasn’t ‘normal’.” 

“Do you hate them?” 

“No,” Taylor said. “I just don’t want anything to do with them. I feel kind of jealous.” 

“Jealous?” Amelia asked. She was clearly tired, but forcing herself to stay awake. Pulling her arm off her face, she tried to sit up, but wasn’t able to do so as Taylor pressed a hand to her shoulder and pushed her back onto her pillow. 

“Your parents love you They do so much for you, and it’s clear you love them. Even when you’ve just met your mom, you opened up so quickly—” 

“They lie to me,” Amelia interrupted. Taylor pursed her lips. It was clear Amelia wasn’t nearly as oblivious to everything as she pretended to be, but she also justified it because she trusted her father. “They lie a lot. I get why Dad lied about you, but I don’t get why he’s not honest to me about Na— Mom.” 

“What do you mean?”  


“Because she smells like you,” Amelia said. Taylor nearly choked on her own saliva. Raynare appeared, lying next to Amelia from the other side of the bed, their heads next to each other. Raynare laughed, her stomach visible contracting through her thin robes. “Not… human, like the kids at my school. Not ‘weird’ like my dad. Not ‘parahuman’ like Sophia. Something else.” 

“You… you knew all along?” Taylor asked. She should’ve seen it coming. She was the daughter of someone Raynare declared to be _powerful_. While Amelia lacked the necessary memories from someone like Raynare to properly assign names to the things she could smell, she still had the ability to distinguish between different scents.. “No, you didn’t know specifically. You figured it out when you met your mom.” 

“I figured it out when I met Sophia,” Amelia said, speaking in hushed whispers. “She has the same smell as that transfer student I told you about, kind of bittersweet and lonely.” 

Taylor had never paid attention to it. The smells Raynare focused on were always rather distinct, instead of things that were more common. Then again, perhaps common was more relative than she thought. Besides Sophia, she hadn’t really _met_ any parahumans since she’d become Fallen. She’d been a bit distracted when fighting Mara to pay much attention to Miss Militia. 

“You knew as well.” Amelia’s voice wasn’t accusing, but Taylor still looked away in shame. Raynare’s laughter turned into fits of giggles. 

“Tell her all about it, come on,” Raynare crooned mockingly. “You know you want to.” 

“You should go to sleep,” Taylor said. “Your parents will tell you everything soon, I’m sure.” 

“They better,” Amelia said, her eyes fluttering and closing. “Cuz if not, I’ll confront them myself.” 

Taylor nodded, standing up. It wasn’t that she’d known from the start, but after Taylor moved in, she had become more aware of it. 

She couldn’t help but feel responsible. Mr. Lavere might be angry, but in the end he’d blame the decision to take Taylor in on himself. That was the kind of person he was, after all. 

### 

“You’re _such_ an idiot,” Raynare said, her head on Taylor’s shoulders. Taylor was lying in her room, staring at the ceiling. “Do you really need me to spell everything out to you? For someone who doesn’t want my help, you sure don’t seem to do much without it.” 

“You’ve gone from the bane of my existence to a footnote,” Taylor said. She kept her voice to a low growl, trying to make sure she wouldn’t explode. “You’re a nuisance that could be helpful, and for all your claims of loving me, you’re pretty fucking bad at actually doing that.” 

“I don’t want you to succeed, Taylor,” Raynare said, stroking Taylor’s face. Her fingers were slender, smooth, a little warm, running across Taylor’s cheek like sunlight. “That’s not what my love is about. I want you to be _strong_. To stand on your own with your head held high. I’m not your training wheels, I’m the parent that pretends I’m helping you keep your balance while you ride the bicycle on your own.” 

“You suck at metaphors. But you’re right, you’re not training wheels. You’re more like a stick in my wheel. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this mess.” 

  
“Blame that on the big boss Himself,” Raynare said. “We didn’t exactly get a choice who to end up with, and considering Kokabiel’s state, I think you got off lucky.” 

Taylor opened her mouth to speak, but could not find the words to dispute the claim. As far as she had seen, Kokabiel had full control of the human body he was sealed in. 

In that regard, Raynare truly was the least possible evil. 

But an evil was an evil, regardless of how minor. 

She shook her head. Dogmatic angel teachings had no place in her head right now. 

“The way you looked at Natasha, that’s joy and love. The way you look at me is nowhere near it.” 

“Oh my,” Raynare said, pushing off the bed with her hands, staring Taylor in the eyes. Black hair framed black pupils, black irises, as old and dark as death. There was no anger in her voice or the lean lines of her limbs. But there was no mockery, either. Not this time. “Are you jealous?” 

“I think you’re insane, so it’s hard to be jealous of anyone who has your affections.” Taylor leaned away from her gaze, staring out of the window. “Hm.” 

“Something’s on your mind, I can tell,” Raynare said. That vaguely amused tone made Taylor twitch. “I’m in it, after all.” 

“That adoration,” Taylor said, her voice weary. The stressful day had finally come to a close, and in her relaxation things started to fit together. Cogs in her head smashed into a recognizable pattern. “She’s pretty, and she’s a better mother than mine, but—” 

“Oho, you think I’m influencing you?” 

“I don’t _think_ ,” Taylor said, narrowing her eyes. Her reflection in the dark window glared back, devoid of Raynare’s presence next to her. A shadow only she could see. “I _know_ , Raynare. She’s almost too perfect. Even Kokabiel, hobgoblin that he is, looked _good_. But I didn’t fall over myself to approach him, because you hated him.” 

“An interesting thought,” Raynare said. She plopped onto her stomach, long legs swinging back and forth above her. “If my emotions bleed into you so much, should you not love yourself more?” 

“I’d rather deal with contempt than love likes yours.” Taylor turned around, trying to ignore Raynare’s mockful teasing. “I think the only person you love is yourself—everyone else just fuels your ego.” 

“Or perhaps those emotions of yours when you met Sophia again blossomed into something more?” 

Taylor shrugged. Raynare’s arm wrapped around her, too heavy for the weight to be entirely physical. 

“Remember what I told you? Angels were made to be absolute, perfect,” Raynare whispered, her breath hot in Taylor’s ear. Taylor gritted her teeth. “The ways we feel about each other is absolute as well. I hate Kokabiel—of all my brothers and sisters I hate him the most. If you met any of my other siblings, I’d sing hymns of joy.” 

“I can’t trust my emotions around anyone,” Taylor said. “Because they all might be fake, because they might be influenced by you. If I can’t control them—” 

“Let them free!” Raynare insisted. 

“I’ll shut them down,” Taylor countered. “Just because she’s _your_ friend doesn’t mean I have to feel about her the way you do.” 

“I think you overestimate me a tle,” Raynare said. “She’s a friend to me, yes, but to you she’s something… more. An ideal. Something to strive for. A mother who cares, an angel who is confident. Everything you don’t have.” 

“And whose fault is that?” Taylor asked. She turned around, her voice taking on a sharp edge. It was a conversation they had over years, without conclusion. 

Because Raynare was incapable of admitting fault, and Taylor was unwilling to let her go without an apology. 

“If your parents think that you’re wrong,” Raynare said, cupping Taylor’s cheek. She trailed a path down from Taylor’s eye with her thumb—the path that her tears once followed, when she still had some left for a conversation like this. “They were never worthy of being your parents.” 

“I know that,” Taylor said. “But you _made_ me wrong. You made me _not normal_.” 

“I didn’t make you, Taylor,” Raynare said. As Taylor’s voice rose, Raynare’s dropped to a whisper, a soft breeze compared to the usual typhoon of her emotions. “All your decisions, you’ve made yourself. Lying to your mother about how the medicine was working, trying to tell yourself you were crazy until you actually believed it. All I did was give that voice in your head a little push until it reached your tongue.” 

“ _You_ were the voice in my head,” Taylor snapped. “I’ve made stupid choices, but not one of them I’d have to make if you weren’t there. And if God wished for us to be together as your punishment, I wish I had never been born.” 

There it was. The moment Raynare forgot to pretend to be mortal.. The fury that twisted her face until even she couldn’t make it beautiful, lips curled into a snarl to cow a wolf. The same face Kokabiel had made when he’d realised that Taylor was not Raynare. 

And Raynare made it for her. She’d feel flattered, if she wasn’t so angry. 

Taylor stood, walking out of the room, but not before shoving Raynare into a pile of discarded clothes behind the door. Mr. and Mrs. Lavere were sitting on a couch in the living room, leaning against each other. She didn’t want to interrupt— 

“It’s fine,” Natasha said, as if reading her mind. Taylor shook her head, suppressing everything about Raynare as best she could. 

Taylor stepped into the living room. It was cozy. She hadn’t really spent much time in here, compared to the dining room-slash-kitchen and her own guest room. Natasha asked, “Do you need something?” 

“I want to learn how to use a sword,” Taylor said. “I kinda stole an exorcist’s sword and wanted to ask if you two can make me a ring like his.” 

“Sealing a normal blade like that into a ring should be a non-issue,” Mr. Lavere said. “It lost its holy light, after all. But I don’t think we can teach you much; our ways of fighting are… unorthodox.”  


“Huh?” Taylor asked. 

“I’m awful with swords,” Natasha said. “And he can’t teach what he learned, because he didn’t learn it. He made a deal.” 

“Like the one for his name?”  


“That one was to wield the sword,” Mr. Lavere explained. “The other deal was a bit more severe than that. I suppose it’d be time for you to know that yours truly used to be the villain known as—” 

“Marquis,” Taylor completed. Mr. Lavere choked on his words, coughing slightly. Natasha laughed, patting him in the back. “Mad Marquis, has a daughter about as old as the disappearance of the old crime lord? My grades were awful, but I’m not that dumb.” 

Neither was Amelia. Her parents would do well to stop underestimating her. 

As would Taylor. 

“Well, yes,” he said. “I traded something the Jinn considered even more valuable than my name—my powers as a parahuman, in exchange for ‘a technique to surpass Heaven’.” 

“His body moves completely on instinct,” Natasha clarified. “He has no control in a fight; his body is like a puppet to the sword art. A blade that wields itself.” 

“So you’re saying I’ll have to learn by myself?” 

“It’s not too hard when it comes to angels, really,” Natasha said. “And Raynare’s skill should help you some. Aim the edge at the enemy and chop away.” 

For someone so beautiful and dignified, her advice was about as useful as Marquis’. Taylor sighed, banishing the thought. Not dignified, _inhuman_. There was something unquantifiable about her that made what humanity Taylor had left question herself, and what inhumanity there was now adore her. She didn’t need Raynare to hate Kokabiel, given how much of a bag of dicks he’d turned out to be in person—but Taylor liked Natasha too much, too soon, for there to be anything authentic about it. She hadn’t warmed up this fast to _Sophia_. 

She moved towards the backdoor, but Mr. Lavere stopped her. 

“Taylor,” he said. “Could you be here when we tell her? I’m still not confident that this is the right choice, and if she gets upset, I may need your help.”  


Taylor nodded. “Of course. It’s the least I can do to repay you. But… I think she knows more than she lets on.” 

Marquis pursed his lips. Natasha’s smile, softer than any Raynare had ever worn, told her everything she needed to know. At least one of them already knew what was coming. 

It was kind of funny, in a way. The old crime lord, Marquis, leader of what used to be the second largest gang in the city, with a bodycount that could possibly rival the Empire’s… brought to his knees by his wife and daughter. 

“You seem pretty okay with the whole ‘living with a mass murderer’ thing,” Raynare said, following her towards the shed. 

“And he’s still better company than you,” Taylor said. She wasn’t really in the mood to chat. Raynare laughed. 

“I can’t say I dislike you barking back more and more, but do you have to be so cruel? I’ve not once killed a human, you know?”  


“I have trouble believing that,” Taylor said. She knew that if Raynare was straight up dishonest, she would be able to tell. None of the alarm bells went off. But that didn’t mean much, really. There were a dozen ways to lie without ever saying a single untruth. “You’re too much of a cunt—you probably had others do the deed for you.” 

“Harsh words! Give me more,” Raynare said, appearing in front of the door to the shed. Taylor shoved her out of the way, opening it. The sword was still there, leaning against the wall. “You want me to teach you how to use a sword?” 

“Would you really?” Taylor asked. “Or would you set up death battles until I became proficient?” 

Raynare smiled. “It’s really easy, see? First you grab it with both hands and give it a good tug—” 

This time Taylor kicked the angel out of the way, dragging the sword along to the back door. 

### 

It was night by the time Amelia finally woke up. Taylor had spent most of that time practicing the sword summoning. It was much harder than Mr. Lavere made it look. It required ‘magic’. Natasha could teach her that, at least, but Fallen magic was not something even Raynare had much proficiency in. 

Raynare insisted that she was a “fighter, not a scholar”. A pitiful excuse. 

Amelia opened the door to her room without knocking, luckily while the sword was still a ring. “I think they’re going to tell me now.” 

Taylor stood up from her seat on the bed, following Amelia out of the room. Amelia looked nervous, one of her hands gripping her arm tightly in a gesture Taylor was, by now, too familiar with. Rather than letting the nails dig deeper into the skin, Taylor put her own hand on hers. 

Amelia relaxed, letting out a breath she probably hadn’t known she was holding. 

“You just met her this morning,” Taylor said. “If you need time, I’m sure they’ll give it to you.” 

“I don’t need time, I need someone to actually tell me what’s wrong with me.” 

“Nothing,” Taylor said, taking Amelia’s hand and dragging her along to the living room. “Nothing is wrong with you, and don’t let anyone else tell you that.” 

“Thank you, Taylor,” Amelia said when they reached the living room. Mr. and Mrs. Lavere stood there, waiting, watching. “For being there for me.” 

“I’ve got so much to pay back,” Taylor said. “I don’t need thanks, I’m just glad I can help.” 

“Thank you,” Amelia insisted. She turned to her parents. Taylor took a seat on the sofa. 

Natasha stepped forward. In one motion, she brought out her wings. They were more normal in size than they were at the mall, likely to avoid knocking around furniture. Amelia took a step back in fright. “Y-you—” 

She turned to Taylor. Taylor sighed, doing the same thing. She could clean up the shedded wings later. 

“Is she my half-sister?” Amelia asked, pointing at Taylor. Taylor coughed. Both Raynare and Natasha laughed. Only Mr. Lavere was left grumbling. 

“I sure hope not,” he said under his breath. “I really should’ve eased you into this, but I doubt there’s much time before you’ll stumble upon it yourself. You’re Nephilim, Amelia. Born of a human and a Fallen Angel.” 

“It comes with some nice perks,” Natasha said. “It’s really easy to learn languages, for example.” 

“Tell that my French grades—you’re, I knew you weren’t _human_ but what _are_ you?” 

“Fallen Angels,” Taylor said. “Rebels against God who Fell for various reasons. Love towards humans and the right to exercise the free will that we have, for example.” 

“But you’re the same, aren’t you?” Amelia asked. 

Taylor shrugged, a bit of Raynare entering her voice. “I wasn’t always. Did you know that one-hundred percent of the people stabbed by this Greg dude turn into angels? Statistics don’t lie.” 

Amelia threw her a dirty look. When Natasha took another step forward, she held her hand out to stop her mother. 

“Why did you lie to me?” she asked, looking at her father. “Why couldn’t you just tell me?” 

“Because I’m a coward,” he said. “And I couldn’t bear to let you see this messed up world that lives in the shadows. I wanted you to live a normal life.” 

“You’re...” Amelia squinted, her eyes watering. “Does that mean I have to leave school? Go to some angel academy in the clouds?” 

Taylor couldn’t help herself, laughing at the absurdity of the thought. There seemed to be a lot of that, these days—laughter and absurdity both. Natasha looked just as amused. 

“Of course not, we’re telling you now to prepare you,” he said. “Just… in case something happens, that you know.” 

“Prepared for what, exactly?” Amelia asked. She didn’t look too hyped up about being half of a supernatural entity. Then again, Taylor wasn’t. At least she wasn’t on drugs anymore. 

“And if you’re not prepared,” Taylor declared, “I’m gonna be there to help out.” 

Amelia shook her head. Taylor shut her mouth. “I knew something was up, I just didn’t know what. I’m not happy it took you so long to tell me. What else have you been hiding?” 

“Well, a lot of stuff,” Natasha said. “But that’s what parents do, lie to protect their kids. If you can’t forgive us for that, I won’t insist you do. We just want you to know that regardless of the choices you make, we love you.” 

“You’re,” Amelia started, fishing for the word from earlier. “You’re so _unfair_. You’re basically a stranger to me, but—” 

Natasha held her breath. Taylor could see her fingers tensing, her delicate eyebrows coming together in a frown. 

Amelia stepped forward, throwing her arms around her mother’s neck. 

“Why can’t you make it easier for me to hate you?” Amelia said, her voice cracking. Taylor wiped her eyes. That was the one thing she’d never want for Amelia. The sheer joy of having a loving family was to her, a sign that despite her own fucked up home life, there was good in the world. 

“If you get rid of him now, you can get a two for one daughter and mother special,” Raynare whispered in her ear. Taylor pretended to crack her neck, headbutting the hallucination forcefully. 

### 

“Director Calvert. You called?” 

The man in the big chair was looking at something on his computer screen, a sharp frown on his narrow face. Armsmaster stood in full combat gear, as usual, ready to do his duty. Sleek armour, thicker across the torso than the legs, artificial muscles and ablative plating hidden beneath a friendly shade of blue—the hero looked as if he’d been cut from the far-off future and transplanted into Brockton Bay. 

“How has the weather been?” he asked. Armsmaster didn’t respond immediately. “Indulge me. Believe me, I’m not trying to lead you on.” 

“It’s been rather windy, but mostly sunny. Why, sir?”  


Calvert grabbed the edge of his screen, turning it so the other man could see it. “Say, Armsmaster. Have you ever heard of a rainstorm that starts in the Midwest and moves at this kind of pace towards the East Coast?” 

Though the helmet stayed on, Calvert could see Armsmaster’s frown clearly, the corners of his mouth twitching downwards. He touched something on the side of his helmet, taking a closer look on the screen. 

“I’m afraid not. Do you think it’s parahuman-related? Or perhaps… dragons?” 

“Maybe,” Calvert said. “I’d like you to check the data. This image has come from the PRT’s own satellite—you remember the ones, I’m sure, since they’ve got your technology in them. The storm seems to have… eluded the meteorologists, and has not been mentioned in any weather reports. I’d like to make sure we avoid needless harm, but we must avoid needless panic as well. It seems to be rather small right now.” 

“Of course, sir. What should I do with the results?” 

“Send them over to the relevant offices so we can inform the people—” 

“Would a call by you not resolve this much quicker?” 

  
“I’m afraid my phone line is a bit clogged up, and I have an important meeting in a few minutes. I’m certain you’d be able to take care of this much faster than I am.” 

Armsmaster, despite clearly dissatisfied at being used as errand boy, nodded and turned around, leaving the office. Ignoring the many flashing lights on the phone that was sitting on his desk, Calvert pressed the big button at the bottom to connect to his secretary. 

“Yes, Director?” 

“Please, send Ms. Crowley in. Make sure we’re not disturbed.” 

“Yes, sir. She’ll be right with you.” 

Calvert leaned back in his chair, the tips of his fingers touching over his chest. Regardless of the day of the week, crime never slept, and neither did the PRT. 

By extension, he could count the free days he had on one hand. But that was fine; Calvert didn’t do the job for the money or the prestige. He did it because he was good at it, and it fulfilled him to help the city. 

Churches hunting down children to indulge in their perverse need to cleanse humanity from ‘the wrong kind of people’ was one thing. 

Using the PRT as their chosen scapegoat was another. 

##### 


	13. Arc 4: Truth - The Man They Used To Call Marquis

All things considered, last night had gone rather well, though Amelia was still skittish around her parents. They’d talked and talked and talked until Taylor’s tongue had gotten sore, and then Mr. Lavere had ‘encouraged’ them to go to bed. Amelia had practically dragged Taylor away. Naturally, they’d spend the rest of the night awake regardless, whispering back and forth until they were tired enough to go to sleep. 

Despite that, Amelia was all ready to go to school the next day. Taylor couldn’t tell whether it was the desperate need to keep a sense of normalcy or if it was the call of a developing crush. Raynare seemed convinced it was the latter. No surprises there. 

Taylor walked her as close to the gates of the school as she could without ending up in the middle of a crowd. Too much chatter, a thousand snarebeat conversations bouncing over her skin. Amelia gave her a one armed hug before entering. 

The decision to stick around and wait for her to finish was made slightly easier by the fact that her new phone had both an internet connection and a few small games. Deciding to hang out on the roof of a nearby coffee shop, Taylor leaped up and settled herself on an AC unit. It rumbled against her back, warm thunder boxed in steel. 

Raynare sat next to her, watching the people walk into the school. “Do you miss this?” 

“Kinda,” Taylor said, fiddling with her phone. “I miss hanging out with Sophia, but it also allowed me to stay away from home. I don’t need to worry about that anymore.” 

“I guess that’s true.” Raynare put her hands under her chin, leaning forward with her elbows on her legs. It was almost peaceful. Flying, standing in high up places. Maybe it was the angel part talking, but Taylor genuinely enjoyed it. 

“Do you miss Heaven?” 

Raynare fell silent. Taylor wasn’t paying attention to her expressions, but the pause gave her more than enough of an answer. 

“Isn’t it the same for us?” Raynare asked in return. She stared up at the sky, lost in contemplation. Taylor wondered what she saw. What she was remembering. “I heard someone once say that your home is where you feel most comfortable. That a person can be ‘home’ as much as a building. More so, even.” 

“If you’re going to say you feel most comfortable with me, I’d rather you keep that to yourself.” 

Raynare didn’t laugh. It startled Taylor to seriousness. “Imagine this: you live somewhere for a thousand years. Two thousand. Three thousand. Your lungs feel like iron. Every breath is heavy. When you speak, it’s short, direct, because you can’t risk a single word being misunderstood. You see someone smiling and you want to ask them _why_ but if you do that you’ll reveal your sin—you’ll reveal that you’ve wondered what, exactly, about this place deserves their smile. You smile all the time, too, and the worst part is that nobody knows it’s not because you’re happy, it’s because you find the idea this is supposed to be _Paradise_ too funny not to laugh.” Raynare laid down, her back on the roof, to stare at the clouds. “For an Angel, Heaven’s nothing special. We were forged from its firmament, hammered together by starlight and flame. Living there is no sublime reward, no holy blessing. It’s just somewhere we’re not allowed to leave. I’m sure you can finish the analogy.” 

Taylor hummed, scratching her itching nose. She was pretty sure she’d heard this exact rhetoric before, in some YA novel they’d had to write a report on at school and Sophia had insisted at least _one_ of them should read it. Which naturally wasn’t Sophia. Below them, _Amy’s_ school had already started; with the students mostly gone, the only people in the streets were a few stragglers and random commuters. Soon, the city would quiet down for as its citizens occupied themselves with work. “I’ve been in prisons more comfortable than my home.” 

“I can—hm. Turn around.” 

Taylor locked the phone, standing up. She wasn’t really up to questioning Raynare’s deal right now. Good thing she didn’t. A girl stood there, dressed in—huh. Surprisingly normal clothes. Though she was trying to hide her face with a dark hoodie, which was unoriginal as hell, Taylor immediately recognized the distinct scar on her cheek. 

“Lily?” Taylor asked. The girl, in the process of pulling out what looked like a knife, hesitated. “You need to pull the hood up a bit. It helps to hide your face but it makes it impossible to actually see anything.” 

Lily immediately yanked the hood off instead, glaring at her. Her expression was schooled into one of contempt and confusion. 

“Taylor,” Lily said. “What are you doing here?” 

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Taylor asked, smiling. “Your move gone well? Probably not a good idea to skip your first week at school, though. Take it from someone who knows, yeah?” 

Lily did pull out the knife. Taylor could sense a sort of energy humming off of it, something that felt neither human nor holy. Bittersweet and lonely. Like walking through old ruins, or watching a movie alone that you’d only ever seen before with a friend. 

“You’re… different,” Lily said. “What happened?” 

“Sophia wouldn’t have told you, of course,” Taylor sighed, sitting down again, sprawling across the brick roof, as _laissez-faire_ as Raynare at her finest. She didn’t turn around, though, too focused on Lily. “Turns out I wasn’t a nutjob all along, I was just parahuman—” 

“Like the Starsworn and the Lament?” Lily asked. “You’re not parahuman.” 

Taylor blinked, narrowing her eyes. 

“I thought you were a Ward like Sophia, that’d explain why she knew you,” she said, crossing her arms. “But you’re an exorcist, aren’t you?” 

“Why not both?” Lily asked. “You’re sane, you haven’t hurt anyone yet, and you’re Sophia’s friend, so…” 

Lily put the knife away, stepping closer. Taylor could see why Sophia had befriended her. It was in the way she moved, sleek, sinuous, like she just had a little bit more _time_ than anyone else. The wicked scar across her cheek helped sell the impression, framing one of her high cheekbones, made her seem a touch rakish. Somewhere between a panther and a pirate. 

Raynare snorted. 

Taylor furrowed her brows, glancing back towards the school. 

“You seem to be taking this rather well,” Lily said. Taylor shrugged. 

“I’ve found getting upset about things complicates everything. Besides, turns out the dude I’m staying with is a former mass murdering super villain. You’re a little lower on the list, I’m afraid.” 

“And you’re cool with that?” 

“Would you believe me if I said I’d rather stay with him than with my mom?” 

“No sweat,” Lily said. “My former foster mother tried to have me sacrificed to some dragon cult.” 

Taylor grinned. Lily didn’t sound like she was joking, but she was grinning back. “I’ve got a question. Any other transfer students lately?” 

Lily shook her head in a spray of dark hair. “I’m the first one in two or so months—they didn’t even want to take me because I’m almost done and ‘should’ve just finished school before moving’. Bitches.” 

“A friend of mine has a crush on you, you know,” Taylor said. Lily groaned. “She’s been trying to get your number, but apparently the whole ‘flirting’ thing isn’t her forte.” 

“She?” Lily asked. Taylor shrugged. “I mean, you got her number?”  


Taylor pulled out her phone again. Taylor added Lily’s number, tapping the message app and went to attach a file. Holding it up, she took a picture of herself and Lily. 

“There, let me send her your number,” Taylor said. Lily nodded. “Still, you shouldn’t skip classes.” 

“Who’s she?” Lily asked. Taylor went through her gallery until she found pictures she had taken of Amelia. “That’s uhhh, isn’t that—” 

“I told you, former mass murdering villain,” Taylor said. “If you’re an exorcist, you’d know about her, right?” 

“Yeah, of course, though I’m not really deep in the network,” Lily said. “They don’t trust me cuz I can’t use holy weapons, but—the Mad Marquis’ daughter has a crush on _me_?” 

Taylor looked at her, ready to defend her friend. But… “Are you—are you _blushing_?” 

A soft tinge of pink had made itself visible on Lily’s face. Raynare looked ecstatic. Taylor couldn’t help but mirror the feeling. Playing matchmaker was fun, but _this?_

This was going to be hilarious. When her phone rang after a few minutes, Taylor expected Amelia to question her. She didn’t expect Sophia’s number to show up. 

Picking up, she put the phone to her ear. “Yeah?” 

“A massive storm’s coming around the Bay, rainfall will likely flood most of the city above the sea level,” Sophia said quickly. Her breathing was heavy. “The alarm’s going to go off around now, where are you?” 

Taylor’s nose itched more and more. She looked around, and what do you know, the massive black clouds that weren’t there just minutes ago were approaching at a speed that looked every bit unnatural. 

“I just want to make it clear,” Raynare said, raising her hands in mock surrender. Her voice was serious, even when her demeanor wasn’t. “I didn’t notice either.” 

“What’s the procedure?” Taylor asked. 

“Top floors or roofs, depends on how heavy the rain is going to be and for how long,” Sophia said. Taylor hadn’t noticed, but Lily was gone. When she looked down, she found the cape-slash-exorcist rushing towards the school. Had she jumped straight down? That was impressive. “Theory is that it’s a dragon.” 

“No,” Taylor said, watching the light of creation thunder in the clouds. “This is angel-related. And I know their target. I’ll send you Mr. Lavere’s number, call him, say it’s about Amelia.” 

Taylor hung up, doing just that, and then called her wings, launching herself up towards the school’s roof. 

She didn’t make it far. Lightning flashed, searing into her. It was similar to an exorcist’s barrier, but much, much more painful. She felt it like fire on the inside of her teeth. Taylor started to fall, just barely able to stop herself from smashing against the ground. Her wings fluttered repeatedly, but refused to take her higher. 

  
“No chance, take the stairs,” Raynare said. Taylor clenched her jaw, rushing toward the front doors of the school. A circle of light appeared, repelling her. “They came prepared. You’re not the target, the only one who could break this is—” 

The rain hit. 

Calling it rain would be an understatement; the hail of raindrops felt more like bullets hammering on her skin. Her wings felt heavy. She heard alarms go off, cars shuddering against the incoming storm. It only took seconds for the sky to turn stark black. 

Taylor raised her fist, gathering all her strength, and punched the seal. It didn’t budge; upon impact, she felt the skin and flesh on her hand and forearm swell and burst, blood spurting from the shredded muscles dangling off her bones. Taylor didn’t hesitate to throw another punch, her arm regenerating and bursting again as she did. She didn’t have time for the pain. 

“Useless,” Raynare said. Taylor growled at the word, holding her hand up. Mara’s sword appeared in a second. Stabbing it deep at the door, Taylor could feel the seal give in slightly, a minute stress fracture popping under the tip of her sword— 

The seal reformed itself, knocking the sword out of Taylor’s hand with a thundercrack and embedding it into the wall surrounding the school. The blade had nicked the tip of her ear, splattering her hair with blood. 

“I promised him I’d protect her,” Taylor said. “If I hadn’t hesitated, I could’ve gotten in like Lily—” 

“I’m sure he’s appreciative, but he never wanted you to be her guardian,” Raynare said. “He’ll come and he’ll mop the floor with these assholes. Haven’t you been paying attention? The way they fear him? I can see it in my dreams.” 

Considering the water had already reached her ankles, Taylor felt like everything about this was supposed to slow him down. Which meant Kokabiel had plans, and whatever those plans were, she couldn’t let Amelia suffer through them. 

She trudged through the heavy wind and water, God’s own temper tantrum drenching her to the bone, yanking the sword from the wall. The Laveres must’ve done a bit more than just letting it transform into a ring considering the lack of a blunted edge after that move. 

“Taylor, you’re going to get yourself killed.” 

Taylor glared at Raynare. Now, of all times, she wanted to be soft? To tell Taylor to back way and throw herself out of danger? _Now_ , when all of this had been her fault from the start? 

“Going up against Kokabiel is an entirely different matter. And considering the sheer strength of that dome, he’s not alone.” 

Taylor turned around, sensing presences behind her. Bruises on the skin of her soul. Her face twisted into a snarl as she raised her sword at the three men and two women she saw. They were Fallen, she saw, their clothes a jumbled mixture of styles that probably would have flattered each of them if it hadn’t been pissing down rain. But their wings paled in comparison to Kokabiel’s or Natasha’s, and that was all that mattered. 

“Treacherous wench,” one of them spoke, stepping forward. “Lord Kokabiel will reward us for your head!” 

“Come and get it!” Taylor shouted. Compared to Mara’s movements, his were slow, slow enough that she didn’t even have to try to dodge his sloppy left hook. She stepped to the right, watching his fist pass an inch from her cheek, and raised her left hand to his neck. Clenching her grip and twisting, she slammed the Fallen man against the seal. It crackled and flared; the man screamed as its rejection of him launched him upwards. 

Lightning struck him in the air. 

When he fell, slamming into the pavement with a brutal _crack_ , he didn’t get up. 

The remaining Fallen didn’t seem perturbed by Taylor’s quick work. If anything, they looked eager. 

“Those ones are proper fighters. Focus,” Raynare said, leaning on Taylor’s back, her own hand over Taylor’s. “You can win.” 

The fluttering of wings announced more of them. They came through the rain, seemingly unconcerned by its strength. Two dozen of them, some with larger wings than others. 

“Actually, never mind,” Raynare said. “Run.” 

Taylor did, but not in the direction Raynare would’ve wanted her to. She rushed forward, her movements almost too smooth, her sword low, and with one motion, slashed upwards through the water. The angels dodged backwards, but Taylor kept going, her sword flowing down and slicing at a blonde angel’s neck. The angel bared her teeth and caught Taylor’s sword on the haft of her glowing pink spear. 

The others surrounded her, aiming their own weapons at Taylor’s body. 

“I’ve dealt with one of you assholes my whole life and I’m still here,” Taylor said, not even the heavy rain managing to drown out her voice. “What makes you think you’ll do better than her?”  


Taylor _pushed_. Her muscles. Her spirit. Something else that wasn’t hers at all. Her sword lit up, flickering with lightning, and she stabbed it forward. The blonde angel sidestepped and knocked her sword aside, but Taylor spun with the impact and smashed the blade into the angel’s spear with a burst of lightning. The angel was blasted backwards, and Taylor took the opportunity to push the tip of her sword into the water. 

When nothing happened, one of the Fallen laughed. 

Raynare shook her head. “This water’s made from an angel’s spell, it doesn’t conduct electricity.” 

Taylor growled. “You could’ve told me I could fucking shoot lightning.” 

“You couldn’t,” Raynare said. “And now you can. Maybe you can figure out more if you avoid dying like a rabid dog. Run, Taylor.” 

“Fuck you!” Taylor shouted, addressing both the crowd and Raynare. 

The one who was laughing stopped abruptly with an unnerving gurgle. He looked shocked, raising a hand to touch his neck as a thin red line encircled it. Blood beaded and dripped, quickly washed away by the downpour, before the Fallen man collapsed, his body and head making two separate splashes as he fell. 

“I suppose that’s enough,” Mr. Lavere said, stepping past the school’s front gates. His sword was in his hands, steaming as the rain evaporated at the touch of its flames. Thunder rumbled as a fork of lightning split the blackened sky. A voice echoed, so loud it might have reached the farthest corners of the city. 

“Mad Marquis!” Kokabiel’s voice announced, sounding gleeful. “Your sins were neither forgotten nor forgiven. The arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice. Welcome to yours. I have your daughter, Marquis, and if you wish to see her unharmed, face me alone. I shall be waiting on the roof.” 

Natasha’s arrival on the scene was heralded by a burst of fire and steam as she stepped up to stand in front of Taylor. 

“I’ll take care of these,” Natasha announced, waving dismissively at the group of enemy Fallen. “You go up, love. Get our girl.” 

Marquis raised his fist. Taylor hadn’t noticed until just then, but he had cut his own knuckles on his way towards it. When he punched the seal, red cracks appeared on it, brutally ripping it apart. The doors were blasted in as well, flooding the hallway with water. 

Taylor could see them. Exorcists, though something was off about them. They must’ve hidden themselves among the students and staff, waiting for the right moment to strike. Their twisted expressions— 

“Corrupted Exorcists,” Raynare said, a particular disdain in her voice that Taylor had not heard in a long time. “It says a lot when that’s a title reserved for the likes of them, and not those who would drug girls and make them fight to their deaths against demons.” 

Taylor and Marquis stepped in, the former glancing back towards the Fallen facing all the others. She was strong, no doubt, but those numbers— 

Taylor shook her head. Natasha had made her decision. She’d make hers. Lily was there as well, held up by a wall of frenzied exorcists. Three were lying on the ground, bleeding from various wounds on their legs and arms. 

Marquis strode forward. 

The exorcists parted, expecting him. When Taylor and Lily tried to follow after him, the exorcists lowered their swords to block their path. 

“I’ll be taking care of some business,” Mr. Lavere said, his voice cold. “Please make sure my daughter’s classmates are not hurt in this fiasco.” 

Taylor’s eyes widened. Her tunnel vision had made it easy to forget that there were many, many more students in this school. The building was a total of four stories high; there could be no doubt Kokabiel had made sure to shut everything down and take as many hostages as possible. 

She took a deep breath. Her sword crackled and popped, a coruscating sheen of lightning flickering around it once more. She hoped Zeus wouldn’t sue for copyright. 

“You gotta make me one of those,” Lily said, flipping the knife to hold it like an ice-pick. Taylor grimaced. 

“Sorry,” Taylor said, flourishing the blade in a circle with another woman’s flair. “I’m afraid it’s one of a kind.” 

#### 

Raynare was drifting in an endless void surrounded by an endless void. Turn left at Hell and just keep walking and you wouldn’t find here. It would find you. It was familiar, in a way. The nether, someone had called it once. The world that never was, the world that is, and the world that will be coming together into something darker than space and brighter than suns at the same time. It wasn’t something you saw. It was something you felt. And it felt like nothing at all. 

In here lay a crucible of souls. Every soul was unique. That was axiomatic. Their time in the crucible was unique as well. 

Though perhaps ‘time’ was a nebulous term for those who had lived outside of it for so long. If anyone could be called _living_ in a place like this. There were no seconds here. No minutes, no hours, no years. Only potential, wasted or actualised. 

Raynare measured time, such as it was, by entelechy. By the souls who managed to free themselves from the crucible and finally be born. 

It had been twenty billion, five hundred, and fifty-six souls since she had been sealed here. She wasn’t alone, and that made it worse. Beside her hung a child. To Raynare, she seemed an eclipse: dark enough to drown the endless light, but ringed in fire to cast away the shadows that circled Raynare’s edges. That was not why she mattered. 

She mattered because she was Raynare’s. 

Her punishment. 

Her lost wings. 

Her stolen time. 

In the end, it had been decided that she would be sealed rather than killed. She’d have preferred the blade to her neck, but endless lives of taking care of this soul, making sure that it would grow stronger and stronger, ready to finally leave the crucible for the challenges ahead, had convinced her that it was better than dying. There was a simplicity to this. A freedom. She could love and there was nobody to ask her why. 

She could not have raised a blade to her own neck here regardless. And if she could have, she wouldn’t have gone through with it. Perhaps it was simple programming she could not shake off, a demand of her Father to cherish her own life and not spite that which she had been given. The automata of an Angel. 

Or perhaps it was when she’d realised that the dead could not remember. That they could not love. A thousand little lives, and Raynare was the only one who hadn’t forgotten them. The only one who still cared. Killing herself wouldn’t bring her to them. It would bring them to an end. 

Raynare’s hands grasped the soul, bringing it to her chest. It fluttered in her grip, coltish. 

“What will you be?” she asked. “Who will you love?” 

Her voice was soft. A child. How she had yearned for a child. But there were no children in war. Not for long, and never for her. Of all those she had loved for so many years, not one had smiled to see the face of their daughter. Their son. 

Perhaps it had been better that way. _Fathers shall not be put to death because of their children, nor shall children be put to death because of their fathers. Each one shall be put to death for his own sin._ Funny how Heaven hadn’t said anything about _not_ putting the children to death. 

So would they do that here? 

No. 

She would not allow it. 

Raynare’s grasp on the soul tightened, her fingers digging into the glittering aether that kept it safe from the oblivion beyond.. She would protect this child and make her strong. For all that Raynare had lost. For all that she had never had a chance to lose. For all that she would give this girl the chance to keep. 

And when Heaven came a-calling to demand justice for a crime neither of them had committed— 

She would make her strong enough to drag Michael, beautiful and harsh, into the pits of Hell with them. 

Raynare swore it on her sins. 


	14. Paragons

Death was on the tip of her tongue. It smelled like stars, ozone burning in her throat. Though her body could feel no exhaustion, her breathing was heavy. Confidence and strength. Taylor’s thoughts went back to Natasha, that reliable back, the beauty in destruction. 

She could see herself on the fields of battle, hundreds upon hundreds of angels and faithful warriors leading the charge. She stood alone, her sword gripped loosely in one hand. There was no ‘true technique’ of heaven. No swordplay that was as graceful as the Light itself. It was instinct and experience, honed over aeons against beasts that preceded even the finity of mankind. 

Taylor _lunged_. Reality bled back into her vision. 

Her wings sent a blast of force in all directions, and for a moment, the hallway was free of water before it burst back in. Her sword stabbed deep into one man’s shoulder. With a twist, and some lightning, the man’s arm was ripped free, flung through the air to _thunk_ against a wall before splashing to the ground, its cauterized stump trailing smoke. 

These weren’t exorcists. Mara, through her menacing and questionable drugged sanity, had looked like she’d had a purpose. The only purpose she saw here was blood. Corrupt and disgusting. People who had not just turned their back of humanity, but turned their back on their faith. 

The man who’d just experienced an unexpected amputation screamed, falling away, and his compatriots charged. The time to contemplate the morality of her actions had long since passed; Taylor stepped forward to meet them. 

“We should kill them,” Lily said, flinging her knife into an exorcist’s leg as Taylor blocked the swords of three others with her wings. They bounced off her feathers like rain. “They’re corrupt, the church will execute them anyway.” 

“Then let the church dye their hands,” Taylor said. Her wings opened back up, the three exorcists blown backwards. “I’ll just take their limbs.” 

“You’re not being more merciful like that,” Lily said, clearly not appreciating the scathing tone of Taylor’s voice. 

Taylor’s sword crackled. None of the exorcists seemed too eager to fight her. “I’m not here to give them mercy.” 

Raynare’s voice came through, her hand warm on Taylor’s. For a long, stretched-out instant, the world slowed down around the sound of Raynare’s words. 

“But I will not grant them salvation.” 

It sounded like a prayer. 

Taylor blurred back into motion, the world smearing at the edges of her vision. Beside her, Lily seemed able to keep up, if only by the slimmest margins. Her knives, flung in trios, found non-vital targets on the exorcists’ bodies, though Taylor could see that Lily was unsatisfied. For Taylor, however, her lightning-wreathed sword sheared through limbs and extremities, searing shut the gaping holes its edge left in its targets’ flesh even as it passed. It stank like someone had set fire to an abattoir. 

If the exorcists retreated, they could be saved. Taylor looked in their eyes and knew that they would never flee, though they feared and hated her in equal measure 

No, in their twisted minds, they thought themselves crusaders. People who believed, in their heart of hearts, that they would be allowed entry at the gates of Heaven when they fell in battle. 

Just ahead of her, a classroom door was blasted off its hinges, an exorcist following in its wake as it smashed against the wall opposite with a thunderous clang. Taylor caught the woman by the elbow as she stepped into the hall and flung her into the crowded hallway, tripping up several other exorcists with her flailing body. Taking advantage of their momentary lapse, she dropped her sword and beat her wings, propelling herself up and past the exorcists, still busy trying to disentangle themselves from one another. 

Reaching up, she tore from its mounting a lamp, hanging from the ceiling by a wire-wrapped chain. With a shower of sparks, the entire school went dark, red backup lights flickering to life in the corners of the hallway after a brief moment of darkness. Bathed in scarlet light, Taylor descended upon the crowd of newly-disentangled exorcists with her wings spread behind her, and shattered the ceiling light against their bodies in an explosion of jagged electricity. 

The exorcists fell, twitching, as one. Taylor rose from her crouch and flicked her wings, as if brushing off dust.   
  
Behind her, out of the classroom that had had its door blasted off, stepped two boys noticeably younger than most of the exorcists had been. Taylor went to pick up her dropped sword as she gave them a once-over. One was red-haired, thin and kind of scrawny, and the other was a rather built young Latino guy who looked as if he could take a punch. Or a sword. That wound on his chest looked rather deep. 

Taylor could tell from the smell alone. Parahumans. She knew there were rumors about the Wards going to Arcadia, because it was the closest school to the Wards HQ. Despite the fact that had turned out to be true, she wasn’t so certain she wanted them to reveal their identities here over a matter that was her fault. 

Taking in the scene, the boys stopped. The wounded one looked at Lily and the bloodied knives in her hand. The ginger was staring at Taylor. 

“You mind telling us what’s up?” the wounded one asked her. Taylor furrowed her brows. 

“Amelia Lavere,” Taylor said. “Where’s her current class?” 

“Now why’d we tell—” 

“Carlos,” Lily said with a strange familiarity. It seemed she hadn’t been lying about being both a Ward and an exorcist. “She’s a friend of ours—” 

“They’re here for her?” the ginger boy asked. “M-Marquis’ daughter?” 

Ahead of them, another group of exorcists had spotted them as they came down the stairs and drawn their swords, about to charge. 

“Classroom!” Taylor urged, raising her sword. 

“Third floor,” Carlos said. “We gotta get the other students safe here, careful!” 

When Carlos stepped forward to meet the exorcists’ charge, Taylor shoved him aside. 

She raised her sword,, another burst of her wings taking her forward. It became a pattern, at that point. The corrupt exorcists couldn’t keep up, a crescendo of pained screams followed each swipe of her blade. 

Lily took a moment to hash out a semblance of a plan with Carlos. “Take the classrooms on this floor and we’ll get the ones on the second, alright?” 

Carlos nodded as Taylor’s mess continued. It was clear that he was uncomfortable with the blatant and unhesitant violence she was inflicting, but his reaction was better than the ginger boy’s, who was looking distinctly green at this point. Lily shook her head. 

She could barely believe that this was Taylor Hebert, the crude girl who had managed to make friends with Sophia. 

At this point, neither could Taylor. Her hesitation, the faith she’d had in ever going back to normal, was gone. What was normal, anyway? Her back itched and a pulse of pain shuddered up her spine. A quick check confirmed there was no blood, and she ran to the stairs, taking three stairs at a time without a second thought. 

Halfway up the first flight, a fist smashed into her face and sent her tumbling back to the landing. A single flap of her wings righted her. She wasn’t hurt, which meant that whoever had hit her hadn’t used magical weaponry. 

Taylor looked up at her attacker, who floated above the stairs, a fierce glare on her face as she stared down at her. She was familiar, blonde hair framing a face featured frequently on TV and in magazines: a local celebrity. 

Victoria Dallon. Glory Girl. 

“You’re really good at making friends,” Lily said as she came up behind her. Taylor clicked her tongue. 

“Fuck you,” Taylor said. Making sure the blade was aimed at the ground, she turned back to the New Wave hero. Raynare was all over the girl, inspecting her up close, from every angle. “I need you to stand aside. I have to help my friend.” 

“None of your crazies with swords are getting through here,” Victoria said. She narrowed her eyes, looking at Lily. “Aren’t you that transfer student?” 

“It’s kind of a long story,” Lily said. “But she’s really just here to help her friend. The classrooms on the third floor have probably also been taken hostage. She helped out on the first floor.” 

Glory Girl didn’t look like she was buying it. 

“The ‘you shall not pass’ thing really suits her, don’t you think?” Raynare asked, appearing behind Taylor. “Tall stature, fierce glare, powers that’d probably cause you to hurt her if you went all out.” 

Which she couldn’t afford to do. Even if she was willing to hurt those who’d threaten her fragile peace and one of the few friends she had, she couldn’t just go all out against someone who was ostensibly a hero. 

She had to hold back. With a thought, her sword turned back into a ring, and she launched herself back up the stairs. When Victoria made to grab her, Taylor spun on her heel, maneuvering under Victoria’s arms and placed herself directly behind the floating girl. Taylor’s wings flared as she wrapped her arms around Victoria and lifted, arching her back, and slammed Victoria’s head into the ground. 

Rather than stay with her skull in a crater, though, Victoria flipped all the way around and flew backwards, using her back to crush a Taylor-shaped hole into the stairwell’s wall. Cracks spiderwebbed outward as the wall splintered inward at the impact. The sheer force of the sound shook the bannisters until they started ringing.  
  
It seemed they were at an impasse. Whatever Victoria’s power was, it flickered when Taylor hit it, but she never had the chance to hit her again before the flickering stopped. And, of course, Victoria herself couldn’t actually _hurt_ Taylor. 

Considering the knocked-out exorcists bundled up at the end of the hallway, she wasn’t _bad_ at fighting, either—which probably explained why Taylor hadn’t been able to hit her more than once in a row. 

“Lily,” Taylor said from under Victoria. “Please help her.” 

“You’re not going anywhere if you’re not telling me—” 

Lily ran past, and Taylor grabbed Victoria’s arm before she could get to her. 

Her back kept itching. As if an old wound had opened up again. From within her comfortable wall hole, Taylor shoved the cape away just far enough for her to lift a foot and thrust it outward in a powerful kick, knocking Victoria into the stairs. The wall she was embedded in crumbled further as she shoved herself out of it, plaster and chunks of brick clattering down on the stairwell in a cloud of dust. 

She could just go up the stairs right now but— 

“I really want to fight you right now,” Taylor said, Raynare echoing the words. 

“You’re not too bad for a hostage taker,” Victoria replied, grinning. 

Yes, Taylor couldn’t afford the distraction. 

But letting Victoria chase her through the school, considering what she’d heard about her in the news, was likely to end with more injured students than both of them would like. 

Lily would find Amelia and keep her safe. 

She’d go and watch Marquis kick ass once she was on the roof. 

“You’re bleeding,” Victoria said. Taylor frowned, reaching around to feel her back. Her hand came back slicked with the iron-scent of blood, the liquid nearly black in the red backup lights illuminating the stairwell. “Maybe you should get that patched up.” 

“Is this really the time to fight allies?” Taylor asked, ignoring the provocation. 

“That’s funny,” Victoria said. “If you were one, I don’t think you’d be fighting me.” 

“Cunt.” 

### 

Death was on the tip of his blade. 

The Mad Marquis’ technique was somewhere between ‘crude’ and ‘elegant’, standing on an edge wreathed in fire and blood. The flames of light that his wife’s feathers summoned forth were hot enough to leave plumes of steam as they scorched past the curtains of rain still falling from the blackened sky, yet the wounds they touched were left bleeding freely instead of sizzling shut. 

Despite the strong wind snatching at his fire and the rain that weighed heavily on his shoulders, Marquis’s sword rose and fell on a rhythm unknown even to himself, leaving cuts that bled and never stopped burning both. 

It was to be expected. Kokabiel was a coward, despite his strength—and that strength wasnothing more than a shadow of his former self. So he’d brought backup. A lot of backup. Fifty men and women in armor, the kind of church-goers you’d never expect to be corrupted by anything less than the Devil’s own tongue. 

Templars, they were. Perhaps misguided, but in his path regardless. Still, he was relieved. Though the school had been taken hostage, his daughter wasn’t on the roof. Which meant she was still in her classroom. 

And if she was still in her classroom, Taylor would free her soon—and if not Taylor, then Natasha would be done with those Fallen and do all the same. 

The three Templars lying at his feet, bleeding and unable to do much more than gurgle weakly before candles of their lives were blown out, did not give their comrades any pause whatsoever. More approached, five at the same time now, their cross-emblazoned shields left in the puddles. 

Smart. Their swords, wreathed in _something_ that was kin to the Light as the Jinn were kin to Fire, managed to resist the cleaving edge slicing right through them. The shields had been all but useless. 

One of the men came forward, stepping lightly over a still-twitching corpse, his sword raised. A woman who clearly thought he hadn’t noticed had flanked him stabbed forward from behind him. 

He stepped to the side, the palm of one hand brushing the flat of her sword just enough to avert her stab. He spun as he did, the jagged edge on the spine of his sword sinking its teeth into the woman’s heavy steel armor with insulting ease. In the moment before the pain registered and the woman opened her mouth to scream, the metal screeched as it was torn apart. With the woman distracted, he circled around, putting her between the man who was coming at his front and himself, slicing a blazing line into the woman from her pauldron all the way to the buckles at the bottom of her breastplate. He shoved her off the teeth of his sword with a kick, sending her spasming form into the remaining eight Templars in front of him. 

Like he said, smart. 

Not smart enough. 

The female Templar exploded into fire, the shockwave searing everything it touched. The roof shook, his ears rung, but Marquis didn’t even stumble. Those who stood further from them managed to get away with being sent flying by the blast. The ones who were closer to the epicenter were not so lucky. Within seconds, ten of them were screaming as their own armor cooked them alive. In a few seconds more, ten more had died, sizzling against the steel they’d thought would save them. 

It grated on his nerves sometimes, watching one of those shows his daughter enjoyed. Seeing the sheer amount of unnecessary movement crammed into every attack, the superfluous _flair_ in every battle. It was, really, far too easy to kill a human being. One ill-aimed blow to the head, a nose broken at the wrong angle and slipped into the brain… and that was just between normal humans. 

With a magical blade in the hands of an already-seasoned warrior who had given up nearly everything for the ability to kill as efficiently as possible? It was a joke. 

The twenty-five exorcists that remained gathered their strength and courage, raising their swords once again. As they approached, over the ever-present torrential rain and their own heavy boot-clad footsteps, Marquis heard the soft hum of something far more dangerous. 

He spun, slapping aside a spear of light with the flat of his sword, turning what would have been a killing blow into one that bit deeply into his shoulder before the spear sizzled out of existence. Like his own sword, the light did not cauterize the wound the weapon caused, and the gaping hole in his shoulder bled freely. 

Kokabiel descended, his arms spread wide. Floating in a constellation around him against the darkened sky were glowing spheres, gathered in bundles of coruscating light. 

“I’m afraid the part where you fight through all my servants and face me at the end is a bit too cliché,” Kokabiel said, his grin revealing a row of sharp teeth. His too-wide eyes caught the light of spheres surrounding him, glinting with insanity. 

Not a far cry from his usual appearance, but noticeable nonetheless. 

“How droll,” Marquis said, his attention far more on the weather than the Fallen Angel. It hadn’t just been for the atmosphere, it seemed. The rain had been a setup specifically aimed at him and his wife. An angel of fire and someone who has made a deal with a Jinn weren’t going to shine as brightly as they could in such wet conditions. “But I suppose I should tell you something as well.” 

Marquis raised his hand. The Templars halted their approach. Kokabiel’s grin slipped off his face, turning into an angry snarl. 

The crosses he had gathered crawled up his arm through his jacket’s right sleeve. Within seconds, they had gathered to form a circle. Each individual cross had just a bit of the Light embedded in it. A mark of honor. 

Marquis repurposed it. Spent it all at once. The Light of Heaven was fickle; it had rules on who could and could not use it, and those rules did not bend. 

They did, however, break. The Fallen were proof enough of that. 

The crosses cracked, all of them at once. The Templars rushed him. Kokabiel gestured, and sent six spears of stardust Light blazing down. 

Futile. Did they think he’d cast this spell in such an obvious way? 

He’d cast it five minutes ago. All the crosses exploded, shards embedding themselves into his arm. The holes they left would heal. Slowly, but they would. Marquis flung his sword at the Templars behind him before dashing forward, weaving around five bright spears before catching the last one through the palm of his hand, slowing it enough that it flickered out before reaching his neck. It stung, leaving a bleeding hole in his palm. His inner fire licked out, replacing the bones and tendons the spear had erased with temporary constructs, and he clenched his fist, testing its function. 

Kokabiel crashed onto the roof, his wings unable to keep him aloft. The barrier above them, fueled by so much Light and now Marquis’ own life force, would be able to hold Michael himself. 

Marquis’s sword, sent spinning behind him, had cut through ten legs before arcing through the air to return to his still-bleeding hand. Kokabiel’s wings wrapped around himself as tightly as possible as Marquis sprinted forward, sword raised— 

As Marquis made to strike, he broke off the attack at the last moment and instead slid under the small dome of feathers, taking advantage of the rain-slick rooftop. Kokabiel’s eyes widened as Marquis thrust his sword into his stomach, their faces less than a foot away from one another. 

You see, there was something the Fallen would never want anyone to know. 

No kind of weapon except those wielded by Heaven could cut into their wings. Unless you aimed for a very specific spot. A flaw in their spiritual matrix, a weakness brought about by rejecting the perfection of God. To see an Angel’s wings was to see the quiddity of Heaven itself—but the Fallen were no longer of Heaven, and they were weaker for it. 

Marquis stabbed right at where Kokabiel’s wings and his body connected, sword angled up through the Fallen’s stomach. 

His sword, already burning, howled with flame. Kokabiel screamed as one of his six remaining wings tore from his body. Shrieking, he spun away, ripping an even greater wound into his chest as a black-feathered wing slapped Marquis away with a gust of wind. 

The bleeding hole Marquis had made in Kokabiel’s body was already healing. It wasn’t in any way ‘holy’, after all. 

But the wing? 

It stayed on the ground, twitching as if it was still alive. Kokabiel roared. An inhuman noise echoing over all of Brockton Bay. The cry of a cornered beast. 

“His sword is cracked!” a Templar shouted. Marquis glanced at his blade as he stood up. Indeed, a thin, hairline fracture was visible running along the length of the fuller. His right hand was still bleeding from the hole left by Kokabiel’s stardust spear. “Charge!” 

Those who were still standing, a whole fifteen of them, charged as one. 

Kokabiel did the same, his remaining five wings sending him forward, knocking rain and blood into the air. He began to glow like a shooting star, a spear of light gathered in his hand. 

A Templar was the first to reach him, and howled, swinging his sword at Marquis’ neck. Marquis ducked, slapped aside another Templar’s thrust, and was forced to raise his sword to block Kokabie’s spear. For a moment, Marquis could feel his sword weakening, the hairline fracture widening. He pushed the spear aside, but Kokabiel simply manifested another and thrust again, forcing Marquis to block it again. The roof was still slick with rain, and his boots slipped as he resisted Kokabiel’s spear. The moment of distraction as he fought to regain his footing cost him. 

Taking advantage of his distraction and inability to dodge, a Templar blade opened his arm to the bone, severing muscles and splashing blood across the rooftop. Marquis turned his head, regarding his assailant, who almost looked like he couldn’t believe what he had just done. The rest of the Templars roared, heartened by their success, and their swords fell upon him like the threshing jaws of some giant beast. 

Marquis stood alone and cut them right back. 

######### 

Thanks to @somnolentSlumber for practically rewriting every action part of this chapter because I’m incapable of breathing through my nose when it comes to stuff like this. 


	15. The Angel They Used To Call Raynare

Taylor could see lights flashing outside. Lightning and Light, the storm blurring the world that laid behind the window, orange sparks that exploded wherever Natasha was fighting. In that blurry darkness, she could see something else. Someone else. 

Victoria took the opportunity Taylor’s hesitation bought her to launch a vicious left hook. Her fist landed in Taylor’s open palm; her fingers clenched, shattering the layer of power that protected Victoria’s skin. She waited for it to reform before burying her own fist into the blonde heroine’s stomach. 

Victoria flew backwards, unhurt, if only physically. 

“You’ll have to do better than that—” 

“You’re exhausted,” Taylor said. “And I have more important things to do. If you want to fight it out one day, I’m up for that. But I’ve made a promise.” 

Victoria pushed herself off the wall, breathing heavily. “We’re not done here.” 

“I am,” Taylor said, pointing forward. Someone crashed through the window, glass shards exploding onto the ground. The cloak-shrouded girl landed on the floor of the stairwell landing, rolling smoothly into a battle-ready crouch. “She might not be.” 

Mara straightened her back, her arms forming a cross. A fan of knives spread in her hands, handles clutched between each finger. 

“What the fuck.” Victoria seemed confused and upset at the development. Poor girl. 

“Mara,” Taylor said, her voice soft. “Are you alright?” 

“I’ve received some help,” Mara said, the bandages in place, same as always. She looked calm. Collected. Not fearless, but courageous. “The angels are fighting down there. One of them said you needed help.” 

Taylor smiled. Raynare mirrored her. “Thank you.” 

When Taylor turned to fly up the stairs, Victoria tried to pursue, her speed unhampered by the magical effects of the surrounding storm, but Mara was ready. 

Her knives flew forward, then arced around the flying brick and embedded themselves in the walls. Within seconds, thin threads had stopped her flight, some cutting through her shield as she struggled, causing it to flicker. 

Taylor’s voice rang out. “Don’t hurt her. She means well.” 

### 

It had been mere minutes since Taylor had sent Lily up. In that time, the third floor had been reduced to an interesting sight. Exorcists sprawled on the ground, their unconscious or moaning bodies pockmarked with knife-wounds to various extremities. Though many of those injuries seemed relatively minor, between the blood that splattered the floor, the walls, the windows—God, it smelled like a charnel house—and the broken-dollhouse scenery, Taylor wondered… before, on the floors below, which one of them had been holding the other back? 

The crucified Fallen hanging from the ceiling might have added to the impression. 

It seemed Kokabiel had sent someone above the rank-and-file exorcists to try and get Amelia, but his plan had failed. Three of Lily’s knives pinned the Angel’s two wings to the roof, hammered into the feathers in the place of nails. One more impaled him through his neck, driven up far enough to force his head into the plaster, which cracked around his skull. But none of them were fatal—an Angel could survive even wounds like that. It didn’t make it any _less_ impressive, or brutal. 

“I know Amelia’s a really good friend,” Raynare said, “but I think someone like this fits you more than her.” 

Taylor frowned. The doors to the classrooms were closed. Fire and starlight were clashing on the roof, the force of the attacks shaking the building so close to the epicenter. 

One of the doors burst open as Amelia tried to rush out, held back only by Lily’s hand around her wrist. 

“Taylor!” Amelia’s voice was pleading. “What’s going on? Where are my parents—” 

“I told you, she’ll take care of it,” Lily said. “You stay here where I can protect you.” 

“I don’t need protection, I want to see my dad!” 

“It’s fine,” Taylor said, stepping up to the door. “Stay here, Lily’s strong. I’ll go up and help him, alright?”  


“But Taylor—” 

“No, no buts, please,” Taylor said, putting a hand on the older girl’s shoulder. “If you get there, you’re just going to be in the way. Believe me, knowing you’re safe will help out a lot more.” 

Amelia gritted her teeth, unable to find fault in the argument, yet looking unhappy nonetheless in the face of the resolution in Taylor’s voice. 

“Help him,” Amelia pleaded. Taylor smiled. 

“Your mother is downstairs. She’s a bit occupied, but once you hear the fighting stop I’m sure it’ll be fine to go out. She’ll keep you safe, just like Lily.” 

### 

Thunder and sunder. Starlight struck sword, sword seared skin. Though heavily injured, Kokabiel was putting up a decent fight against Marquis. Taylor wanted to jump in, strike down Kokabiel while he was distracted, but Raynare’s hands were gripping her shoulders in warning. She’d be nothing but a dead weight here. 

But she could see it. The shards and chips of metal, clearly broken off Marquis’s damaged blade. On the other side, loose limbs and burnt husks of armored men and women scattered like crabs cut up in a kitchen, and three dead wings. 

Where Kokabiel had lost power from the loss of his wings, he made up for it with the ten thousand years of ceaseless violence that had carried him to this day. Where Marquis had lost power from his fractured sword turning into a jigsaw puzzle, he made up for it with his impossibly peerless technique. 

It wasn’t a draw, though. Marquis had the edge. Due to Kokabiel’s arrogance and failure of a plan, he would come out the other side of this battle weaker than he had ever been, even if by some miracle he came out the victor. He looked livid. His jaw, sharp as broken glass, was tensed so tightly in a rage so primal it defied description. Something so inhuman that to try to apply the word ‘fury’ would be too tame. 

She wasn’t witnessing a fight, Taylor realized. She was witnessing an ending. 

Through the storm, she could see something move. Align. It was as if reality itself was screaming, cogs bashing against each other in staccato, parts of an inscrutable machine bending and squealing under the weight of the world. 

Something clicked. 

Stars came together. 

In a show of light, incandescent beyond incandescence, Kokabiel gathered his desperation into a blade, white-hot as Creation bent around it and honed itself to murder. 

It burned not just the air, but also the Fallen’s hands. Taylor inhaled and all she could taste was sunfire. 

“Marquis!” Kokabiel roared, slashing towards the man’s chest. Marquis intercepted the strike, but his sword could not survive in the face of such power. It broke in half, splintering with a scream that blasted Taylor’s hair into disarray, and Kokabiel’s blow was not parried. It was, just barely, deflected. Rather than take his life, the cut took Marquis’ arm. The limb fell from his shoulder, and it was cinders and dust before it could touch the rain-slick rooftop. Taylor’s eyes widened. She tried to rush forward, but her legs would not move. Her wings would not flutter. 

Marquis grit his teeth, grabbing the hilt that had fallen through the space his arm had been, holding it in a reverse grip. 

He drove it deeply into Kokabiel’s chest, forcing the Fallen to his knees. What was left of the blade, barely long as Taylor’s forearm, came out of Kokabiel’s back with a squishy, meaty _thunk_ that made Taylor feel queasy. 

Marquis was bleeding heavily. Yet he didn’t crawl away, didn’t seek safety. With a loud bang, the door behind Taylor opened. Amelia stood there, holding a baseball bat. More people were coming after her, which meant the exorcists must’ve all been dealt with. Lily wasn’t with her. 

And that was all the opening Kokabiel needed. He dove at them, the last of his wings carrying him faster than the injured Marquis could follow. His hand was aimed at Amelia. Taylor stepped in front of her, ready to stop him. She couldn’t see the spear of Light that came from above them. His dive had been a diversion— 

One that Mr. Lavere had predicted. Not Marquis. Just a father concerned for his daughter, spending the last of his strength to throw himself in the way. It struck him down, cratering his back until Taylor swore she could see his spine through his chest. 

Amelia screamed. Taylor’s fist connected with the sword in Kokabiel’s chest, smashing him away. 

Whatever indecision had paralysed her before had shattered at the sight. Taylor could finally move, grabbing Mr. Lavere and dragging him towards the stairs as fast as she could. Raynare didn’t have anything smart to say. Not a single word. She was gone, for the moment at least, leaving Taylor with the burden of trying, and failing, to mend the injuries. 

“Taylor,” Mr. Lavere said, gesturing for her to stop. She grimaced, but laid him down, slumping against the wall of the rooftop’s stair enclosure. Though he was clearly hurt and fading, his voice was both resolute and unconcerned. “Amelia—” 

Ever the contrarian, Taylor’s voice was a mix of desperation and worry. “You need medical attention, I’m not—” 

“You’re not responsible for this.” 

The bleeding was slowing down. His face was pale. He raised his remaining hand, grabbing Amelia’s tightly. His daughter was crying, unable to form words. The sight of her father dying. Taylor knew it. She could see him losing the fight as a thousand hands clawed at his soul. 

“There’ll be a day,” Mr. Lavere spoke up, his eyes moving towards Taylor and then past her. Lily and the others who had helped save the hostages had arrived. “Where you have to throw everything away for what you love.” 

The red-haired boy tried to step up, tried to lay his hand on Mr. Lavere’s shoulder, but he recoiled and stepped back, his fingers smoking. 

“Is this really the time for a lesson?” Taylor asked. It was a miracle he could still speak, considering the massive hole in his chest and back. She could see his heart under her hands, beating despite a chunk of it being gone. Raindrops splattered on his left ventricle. It accentuated his inhumanity—and yet in her mind there was no one as human as Mr. Lavere. 

“If not now, I don’t think I’ll be able to give you another one.” He coughed then, spasming, and his heart visibly skipped a beat. 

“Don’t say that. You’ll be fine. We just—” 

“Death doesn’t discriminate, Taylor. It doesn’t matter who or what you are, how much good or bad you’ve done. Amelia.” 

Amelia was barely there, her body trembling. She was visibly trying to hold herself back from vomiting at the sight of her father’s body so brutally ravaged, the scent of burning flesh rising in the air. Mr. Lavere’s grip on her hand tightened. She looked at his face. 

“I love you. Your mother loves you. Don’t think less of her because she wasn’t here.” 

Amelia nodded, tears streaming down her face. She put her other hand around her father’s, clasping it close as if she would never let go. 

A cackling laugh broke her concentration. Despite his grave injury, Marquis managed to look more annoyed than anything. Trying to stand up, he was stopped by Taylor pushing him down again. Someone else could get him out of there. She had something to do. 

“Take care of him,” Taylor said, stepping away, the soles of her sneakers sticky with blood. No one moved to stop her. 

Taylor took a step. With a sound reminiscent of tearing flesh, something loosened itself from her back. One of the stumps exploded into a wing, tainted red by her blood but swiftly washed clean in the heavy rain. Another followed suit just seconds later. 

She took a second step; water splashed away from her foot, and did not return, receding away in a short radius around her. The rain kept going, but not one droplet of water dared to touch her. Not any longer. 

“Is that you, Taylor Hebert?” Kokabiel asked, his voice weary. The Fallen was unable to look up. 

  
This was her weakness. This indecisiveness. This hesitation when all the answers to her questions were spelled out in front of her. Taylor balled a fist. Lightning crackled around it, bright and sharp. But then, slowly, the blue and white sparks sank into a sickening darkness, absorbing whatever light was left in the storm. 

Kokabiel could not see; his strength had failed him, leaving him not even enough to raise his head to look at her. Yet, he could still feel. His hair stood on end as the electricity in the air collapsed into something far darker. 

Taylor grabbed his face, pulling it up. Kokabiel’s twisted smile was gone, but she could still see the smugness at his success. At the smell of death that came from Mr. Lavere. Taylor’s lightning scorched his skin, and his eyes widened. 

“Mercy,” he begged, his voice small. Taylor could see the red bleed away from his eyes. For just a moment, she could see something human in him. Weakness in a way that he would abuse, that Raynare would abuse. 

Taylor lacked the ability to give him what he was asking for, because she had no faith left. No belief that one day things would go back to normal. No belief that he would, one day, realize the error of his ways and turn back from this disgusting path of destruction. 

Taylor closed her eyes. Her voice was calm. “Is it really my mercy you should be asking for?” 

She could feel him struggle. The few limp wings he had left fluttered hopelessly against the rain he had brought down himself. His right hand twitched, trying to rise, trying to lift the spell. Taylor stepped on it. 

“Tell me, Kokabiel,” Taylor said, no, _ordered_. “Do you think there’s a way back for us?” 

Kokabiel’s face twisted in fear and contempt. “All I have done was for us to go back! Sister—” 

Taylor’s grip tightened, fingers digging into his jaw. Bone cracked under her hand. He screamed. Taylor rolled her shoulders, the haze in front of her eyes clearing. Raynare was kneeling behind Kokabiel, holding him in her arms in a futile effort to ease his suffering. 

“Did we ever _want_ to go back?” Taylor asked. Kokabiel opened his eyes again, the red bleeding in and out. “Did we ever ask for forgiveness?” 

“ _Mercy_ , Raynare!” Kokabiel’s voice was strained, the pitch changing with every syllable. “Do you not see where this will lead you?” 

Raynare lacked the ability to give him what he was asking for, because she had no hope for him. No hope that he would return to the ideals he’d spouted when he’d fought by her side. She held him, and that was it—a pallbearer and nothing more. 

“Are you so far gone you would ask for mercy from the ideal you betrayed?” 

Kokabiel’s face twisted, muscles writhing and bulging under his skin in ways that made him seem as alien as he truly was. 

“You’ve always been the worst of us,” Kokabiel roared with the last of his strength. “When everyone else hesitated, it was always you who would draw your blade!” 

“Me,” ~~Taylor~~ she said. Treachery that surpassed absolute treachery, struck from history. “Because nobody else would, or could. That’s what ~~she~~ I did, right? When you cowered in fear, ~~she~~ I killed. When Azazel took up the blade by ~~her~~ my side, you lied.” 

Two more wings announced themselves with thunderous applause, exploding out of her back with streaks of dark lightning. Taylor lifted Kokabiel up. There was no way for him to resist. 

“ _Mercy_ ,” Kokabiel begged once more. Taylor shook her head. “Sister Bezaliel! Mer—” 

“It’s not my mercy you’ll have to ask for,” Taylor said. “When you see our Father, please send Him my regards.” 

Bezaliel lacked the ability to give him what he was asking for. 

Because she had no love left for him. 

Because she had no mercy left. For him or anyone else. 

All she had ever loved were humans. Love so powerful, so pitiful, it would make her kill angels just to save them. 

She, I, her, me. Perhaps that was all they could’ve hoped for. 

All of Bezaliel, split up into two parts. 

Taylor Hebert, who wished to be nothing more than a normal human, free from responsibility. 

Raynare, who wished to be nothing more than in love, drowning her guilt in the pleasures of the heart and the flesh. 

Bezaliel, the Thirteenth. The Lost. 

Shadow of God. 

Cain of Angels. 

And here he stood, Abel. Or maybe Adam. Kokabiel. He who had once had everything and had wanted so much more.  


Lightning that was not lightning fell from Heaven. 

It struck Taylor and she imploded. Her soul collapsed over her body, condensing into a hole in the sky through which nothing was: an abyss antithetical to the living. It ate the rain and the roof and the light and then it ate Kokabiel too. He screamed until the growling thunder drowned him out. Until the darkness ate the thunder, too, and there was no sound at all. 

Taylor dropped her hand and she was Taylor again. Nothing of Kokabiel remained. Stardust and soot turned into stardust and soot. 

“You shone so brightly, Kokabiel,” Taylor said, wiping her eyes. Some of the rain had gotten into them—there was no other explanation as to why her cheeks were wet. “If we won’t see eye to eye in this life, perhaps the next.”  


######### 

Bezaliel watched as Kokabiel died. She studied his ashes through strands of tenebrous hair that fell over her face. Her eyes did not blink. How could they? She didn’t have eyes at all—just voids, black as space, a mockery of mortal pupils. 

Love was patient. Love was kind. 

It did not envy, it did not boast, it was not proud. 

_It was not rude, it was not self-seeking, it was not easily angered, it kept no record of wrongs._

**_Love did not delight in evil, but rejoiced with the truth._**

It [color=transparent]always[/color] protected, [color=transparent]always[/color] trusted, [color=transparent]always[/color] hoped, [color=transparent]always[/color] persevered. 

But who did it protect? The loved? The loving? 

Bezaliel loved. 

She loved so much she would have shattered Heaven and Hell to love for one more day. Her love was boastful and proud. Envious of all those who loved what she could not love. 

Her love was a negative space—love that gave love meaning by what it could not be. 

It was an unkindness carved into her soul as she struck down kith and kin. The first time her blade had tasted the blood of her sister, a person who had so unconditionally trusted, who had bared herself at Bezaliel’s invitation, who may even have loved her in truth, it had cursed her by her own hand. 

Bezaliel did not, could not hate Raynare, though she knew that if not for that day, Raynare would have gone on to do so many things that Bezaliel _would_ have hated her for. 

Hate was inevitable. It was rude and self-seeking, it was easily angered, it kept records of all wrongs. 

Bezaliel hated hatred. And because she hated hate, because she could not let Raynare do anything that would make her hate, she had killed her—out of love. 

(Killed her out of love, and so marred her soul with a doom no other could bear. As Cain was the father of murder, Bezaliel was its mother. The only mother she would ever get to be. She was first of the kinslayers and last of the Watchers, reviled and revelation). 

And just as Bezaliel could not hate Raynare as she struck her down, even taking her name in pitiful shame— 

Taylor Hebert could not hate Kokabiel as she executed him. Nor could she be Taylor Hebert, human; nor could she be Raynare, Fallen Angel. They were names for something she was not. 

She had lost them, just as she had lost her faith. Just as she had lost her hope. Just as she had lost her love. 

But those had been poor reflections as in a mirror; never seen face-to-face. She had not known them fully. 

Faith. Hope. Love. These three would remain. 

And the greatest of these was love. 

Bezaliel sat on a roof. Today she was in New York: tall buildings, beautiful and bright. Someone sat next to her, descending on raven wings just as she had done. They wrapped around her in a casual embrace, warm and friendly, as if they had last met only yesterday. 

“What fleeting blink this sight must be,” he said, and she smiled in memory. She did not need to look to tell who it was. Steel over steel. Lust over love. “I admit, I had never thought you would wake up again.” 

“Perhaps she hasn’t woken up quite yet,” Taylor said. Raynare was standing on the street far below, lost in the crowd, laughing, dancing—swirling, kaleidoscopic joy. Bezaliel smiled again. “Or maybe she wants to keep dreaming of better times.” 

“Perhaps,” Azazel agreed. He seemed—not sad, just… tired. “I’m sorry.” 

“Whatever for?”  


“I’ve been awake for a long time. I was aware of Kokabiel’s cult using my name. His idea that I would lead the dragons to heaven…” 

“But whatever are you sorry for, my brother?” Bezaliel asked. Taylor shrugged at him, unconcerned. “That you didn’t step up? Do you think you need to justify yourself to me? Of all people, would I not be the one who knows best that sometimes things are out of our hands?” 

“Raynare would not have been that forgiving, I imagine,” Azazel said, his eyes turning towards Heaven. Of all the Fallen left on Earth, only he had the strength to see through the clouds and past the Gates. She wondered what he saw. What had changed, if anything had changed at all. “Are you Taylor, or Bezaliel?” 

“Why not a bit of both?” Taylor asked. “Believe me, it’s better than Taylor and Raynare. I think the latter does much better on her own, don’t you agree?” 

Raynare, wingless and in the middle of thousands, sang the hymns of heaven as the relentless tide of humanity crested about and through her, and she through them. 

“Whatever the name you choose for yourself, you’re my sister,” Azazel said. “If you ever need me, I’ll be there. _Beside_ you.” 

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. If you need me—” 

“No, enjoy your vacation. I’m sure our paths will cross soon enough.” 

“Goodbye, Azazel,” she said. “Brother mine. I love you.” 

For the first time since her Fall, it wasn’t a curse—wasn’t a malediction, an oath, or a promise. Just a fact, spilling from the lips of she whose love had always been the greatest. 

Raynare’s love had been healing. And now ‘Raynare’s’ love was healing. 

Coincidences, they say, were spiritual puns. 

Certainly someone, somewhere, was laughing. 


	16. In Love And Death We Don't Decide

“Tell me about Taylor Hebert.” 

The girl in the chair had her hands in her lap, her features schooled into a stern glare as if to mirror and mock the man who had spoken. Her leg hurt, the cast they put it in was itchy, and she really didn’t want to do this right now. 

The fact that Natasha and Amelia had vanished right after the entire mess was over left her with no person to release that pent up stress on… or with. If anything, after experiencing Amelia grabbing a baseball bat and sneaking up on her to get out of the room, she felt kind of—well, there was probably something Freudian about thinking that maybe she wanted a little more excitement like that in her life. Sue her for liking women who weren’t afraid to stand up for themselves no matter what they had to do. 

“Shouldn’t you be asking her friend? I only met her, like, three or so weeks ago.” 

“I’m not talking about the Taylor who was friends with Sophia, Exorcist Lily,” the director said. Her eyes widened. “I’m talking about the Taylor Hebert who happens to be a Fallen Angel reincarnated.” 

“I don’t know anything about that,” she said, her hands twitching. She shifted her weight from one side to another, uncomfortable. So much for looking determined. “When I first met her, she was as human as you and me.” 

“People in higher government positions are often made aware of… calling it a masquerade seems a bit much. An underbelly, slowly drifting to the surface as of the past thirty years, perhaps. I had not planned to ask you to choose between your loyalty to your church and your loyalty to the PRT, but recent events have forced my hands.” 

“So you’re going to make me choose now?” 

Calvert shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “No, of course not. I know you’re not overzealous or malicious, which is why I need your help.” 

“Help?” Lily asked, her back straightening. “Something a Ward can do instead of a Protectorate hero?” 

“Something _you_ can do,” Calvert said. He grabbed a file from a drawer behind his desk. Opening it, he flipped through a few pages before pushing it over the table to Lily. “There’s something of a rule, an unwritten one if you will. Just like how capes generally avoid going after civilian identities even if they’re sworn enemies, divinity and devilry alike have mostly avoided messing with humans who didn’t seek them out first. That fragile peace has been broken.” 

“Because of what Kokabiel did?” Lily asked, looking over the file. The names of people who had gotten injured during the hostage situation. It was a miracle, perhaps divine intervention, that nobody had died. Didn’t stop the list from being longer than her forearm. 

“In part, but regardless of who is responsible and who can be held accountable, one question remains: what can be done to avoid this happening again? Hoping it won’t because it never has before obviously won’t work anymore.” 

“Cooperation,” Lily concluded. Calvert nodded. “You want cooperation between the churches and the PRT?” 

“It’s merely a proposal. My superiors are dubious. But if anything—if anyone—proves that this could work, it would be you.” 

He almost sounded proud. Rationally, Lily knew that she was something of a pawn in a greater game—the sort of game that made her wonder if she really wanted to become someone who understood how to play. She knew that Thomas Calvert was ambitious, sometimes too ambitious, but that his work as director in the city had caused an incredible drop in parahuman criminal activity. 

She knew that if nothing else, he took his job seriously. Too seriously, some would say. 

“Of course,” Calvert said, interrupting her thoughts, “I’ve already spoken with your… other superiors as well. While skeptical, they’re willing to negotiate.” 

“Negotiate what? Free information exchange? Stop pretending the supernatural is parahuman in nature?” 

“All of the above and more, perhaps.” 

“You do know that none of the Wards at Arcadia believe that this mess was parahuman, right?” 

Calvert nodded, bridging his fingers over his lip. He had a narrow sort of face and a narrow sort of voice, but right now he sounded almost gentle. “Which is why I wish for you to be there when I explain what happened. But before that, I require another favor. This one as your superior in the PRT.” 

Lily leaned forward. 

“Your friend has gone AWOL.” 

### 

One would think shady meetings like these would happen in, well, shady places. 

A small diner in the quiet side of town? Orange walls and gauzy curtains and a photo of the Beach Boys pride-of-place above the counter? The only things shady about this place were the white umbrellas covering the tables outside and the waitress’ fashion sense. Even on the quiet side, it was half full and busy. 

Her eyes trailed over the man’s face—every nook and cranny, everything about him seemed human. From his neatly groomed beard, only lightly frosted with gray, all the way to his tan skin and pleasant smile. He fit the diner, a little old but well put-together, just a natural part of the city’s scenery. Ostensibly Middle Eastern, he wore an outdated suit, but the sort of outdated that some people called timeless, dark and cut smooth across his shoulders and waist. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked. Sophia grimaced. Of course she was. She hadn’t been home in two days. He didn’t wait for a more specific answer. Rather, he was asking without expecting one. The waitress—Sophia felt embarrassed just looking at the cheesy logo on her tourist-store shirt—brought over two plates, putting them on the table in front of them. “I’ve already ordered. Please, we can wait until you’re done.” 

Sophia opened her mouth to speak, but the smell of greasy bacon and eggs made it hard for her to focus. Through her hazy vision, she slid her hand over the table and grabbed a fork. The man, less famished, took his time as he cut into a pile of pancakes. 

They ate in silence, broken only by the occasional sound of their utensils scratching their plates. Weeks of hearing “We’re looking into it and “We don’t know anything specific yet” had driven her insane. After so long without news, she’d snapped and gone hunting herself. Two days of effort hadn’t been very fruitful. She couldn’t find the Lavere family, she couldn’t find that old priest, she couldn’t even find Taylor’s mom anymore. It was as if the city was trying as hard as possible to erase any traces of her existence. 

And then he had appeared. Walking into the alley she’s been taking a nap in. Her knife had melted the second it touched his skin, moments before he had spoken the only words she’d wanted to hear. 

She finished the plate, taking deep breaths. 

“Where is she?” Sophia asked, her fist clenching over the fork. “You told me me you’d tell me—” 

“I’m sorry, this must be a misunderstanding,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I said I could offer you something to help you with your search. I’m not quite aware where your friend is, though I assure you she is alive.” 

“Then what ‘help’? If you can’t tell me where—” 

He put his finger up. His other finger touched the table, slowly drawing a circle and burning something into it. “As is my nature, I am unable to give people what they want without something of an equivalent exchange. Call it a limitation of my powers, crude approximation as the notion may be.” 

“You want something from me?” Sophia asked, looking over her slightly worn and dirty clothes. “You sure you’re not some pedo? ‘Cause I don’t have much to offer—” 

“But you do,” he said, his smile not slipping. “You have quite a bargaining chip. First, however, let me guess what you want.” 

He tapped the side of his head. Sophia narrowed her eyes. 

“Anyone even slightly aware of your friendship could do some ridiculous faux psychic reads,” he elaborated. “But you’re not the person to fall for something that simple. You’re more primal, more aware that power discrepancies in friendships can turn sour. You feel inferior. Even if you found her, you’d think, ‘I will never be able to stand by her side’. You’ll be left behind—” 

“Shut up,” Sophia said. She clicked her tongue. “Let's say you’re right. The fuck you want?” 

“A shadow can never stand by the side of another shadow, Sophia Hess,” he said. Sophia crossed her arms. “So say we trade those shadows for something else. A power for a power—one that could give you an edge over what goes bump in the night, over the panoply of pantheons pursuing her to the ends of the Earth.” 

“You want my powers?” Sophia asked, looking around. Nobody could hear them, it seemed. Nobody was even turning to look into their direction. The air around them shimmered, as if touched by some unseen heat. 

“In exchange for another power.” 

“The fuck are you?” Sophia asked. The man’s smile widened slightly. 

“A friend,” he said, chuckling. “And believe me, you’ve never had a friend like me.” 

### 

“Nephilim.” 

Amelia spun on her heel, a sword in hand. The blade bounced off the skin of a woman who the very sight of set Amelia’s legs to trembling. 

Angels were, by default, beautiful. She’d met some of her mother’s friends and blushed at the way they dressed, the way they spoke, the way they moved. They had been lovely the way a kiss was lovely. 

This woman was not lovely. She was not beautiful. She was not grace. These things were _her_. There was no point comparing her smile to a sunrise, her hair to starlight, her glory to the dawn’s. Even those failed to capture the slightest fraction of her radiance. No poet would sing of a woman like this. She was too perfect for songs. 

Amelia knew her just by looking, even though they’d never met. The woman loomed the way castles did, carved to perfection and set eternal in stone. A truth that hammered against Amelia’s soul. Her sword fell from her grip—the bones of her fingers were jelly, her palms covered in sweat. 

Gabriel. 

The only female Archangel. 

For a moment, night became day as Gabriel’s twelve golden wings flexed outwards. Even without them, everything about her was wrong in all the right ways. Nobody who ever saw her would be able to forget such a presence— 

“Nephilim.” Gabriel’s voice ripped Amelia from her thoughts. “You seem to have dropped something. Are you alright?” 

Unconcerned by the threat of the weapon, Gabriel bent her knees and picked it up barehanded by the blade, handing it back hilt-first to the half-Fallen. Even her slightest movement jittered Amelia’s heart, setting it pounding in her chest. 

“Yes,” Amelia said thickly, turning the sword into a ring. 

“I’m glad to hear that. If you feel unwell, I can cast healing magic—” 

“No, it’s fine,” Amelia said, taking a few steps back. It was that or collapse. “You’re not here to kill me, are you?” 

Gabriel blinked her starfire eyes. Her golden hair moved to one side as her head tilted, drawing Amelia’s eyes to the long arch of her neck. Her mouth went dry. “Why would I do that?” 

“There’s a whole book about how Nephilim are man-eating monsters who are going to, uh... “ 

Gabriel put her hands together, her face lighting up in recognition. “Ah! Those old stories! Of course! I’m sorry, I told Michael that war propaganda was a bit stupid, but—” 

“War propaganda,” Amelia muttered, breathing out of her nose. Long and deep and not just in exasperation. “Alright, you don’t want to kill me. So what do you want?” 

“Ah, yes! I haven’t introduced myself. I am the Archangel known as—” 

“Gabriel,” Amelia finished. The more the Archangel spoke, the more she half-stumbled over her words, carefree, the less Amelia found her intimidating. ...no, that was the wrong way to phrase it. There was nothing in the world that could make this woman less terrifying. Instead, it was—it was like the difference between Amelia’s sword as a ring and her sword as a sword. _Intent_. When Gabriel smiled, bright with joy at being recognised, it was soft. Gentle. The embrace of a friend rather than the grave. 

“My reputation precedes me, I see.” Gabriel sounded happy. “I need to talk to you and your mother about something important. Can you take me to her?” 

“No,” Amelia said. Gabriel blinked. 

“Why not?” 

“Because you’re an Archangel, and she’s Fallen. And I’m… Nephilim.” 

“Yes. Because you’re Nephilim, you’re the only one who can help me,” Gabriel said, bowing. There were probably awards handed out to people who didn’t look down when this woman bent at the waist, but Amelia wasn’t winning any of them. “Please!” 

“No,” Amelia said. Gabriel was in front of her, grabbing her hands before Amelia had any chance to take another step back. 

“Please!” Gabriel begged, sounding more like a child than a leader of Heaven. “You’re a good person, you’re righteous, you’re kind, you worry so much for your friends! You’re exactly the kind of person I need!” 

“No!” Amelia said, her face red. “My father died because of me, I don’t want to deal with you assholes anymore, leave me alone!” 

Gabriel didn’t resist when Amelia shoved her away, and she knew that was the only reason the woman even moved. It didn’t make her feel _less_ angry. The Archangel fell onto the pavement, her pure white dress stained in the dirt. Amelia felt the need to apologize—an instinctive flinch at the thought of spoiling something so beautiful—but snuffed it out. 

Gabriel stood up, causing Amelia to take a few steps backwards. 

“I understand,” Gabriel said, her gaze cast downwards. “I’ve been told I have a habit of expecting to hear affirmations whenever I request something. Let me try again. Nephilim Amelia Lavere, niece of mine.” 

Amelia flexed her fingers, ready to call the sword. It wouldn’t make a speck of difference but that wasn’t the point. 

Gabriel bowed again, far more courteous this time, and when she looked back up there was nothing carefree about it. The flat of her lips, the set of her jaw, the fact she was no longer blinking: Amelia was pretty sure there’d be queens arrayed across all the pomp and finery of their thrones who’d look less regal than Gabriel did with a simple dress covered in dust. . 

“I humbly request to speak with you and my sister, Ashiel, known as Natasha Lavere, on matters concerning your fate and perhaps the fate of the world. I come here with the blessing of Azazel, leader of those who led the Fallen on Earth.” 

“If you throw a name like that around, I suppose I’ll _have_ to listen to what you have to say.” 

Amelia looked up, watching as her mother landed on the street with soft flutters of her wings. Gabriel’s face lit up in happiness. 

“But you will have to tell me—why my daughter and no one else’s?” 

Amelia turned to Gabriel, whose face was once more betraying emotion. The Archangel put her hands together again and then spread them far. Parchment appeared, displaying hundreds of names. Most of them were black, a dozen or so were red. Only one was blue. 

“The black names are children, too young,” Gabriel said. “The red ones are adults, found to be wanting in good hearts. The blue one is the only one left.” 

“Amelia?” Natasha asked. “Left for what? I’d have thought Baraqiel’s daughter should be of age by now—” 

“I have developed a formula together with my brother, capable of giving people… powers. Parahuman powers. We have been careful in cultivating it, deciding who to give it to based on the judgement of Heaven. Powers are born from negative emotion and many who receive them end up becoming bad people, but our powers—” 

“You make sure there is a balance between those who would abuse their powers and those who would use theirs for good, alright,” Natasha said, waving her off. Amelia blinked. 

“You knew?” Amelia asked. 

“There were rumors, and if you hear rumors there’s a good chance you’ll find a bit of truth,” Natasha said. “But what does this have to do with us?” 

“The paranatural and the spiritual do not mesh,” Gabriel said, pulling out a vial from somewhere within her robes. “Parahumans can never be embraced by divine or demonic powers, and those who have been embraced will be rejected by the paranatural beings that grant parahumans their powers. Except Nephilim.” 

“No, not except Nephilim.” Natasha shook her head. “This is a theory of yours. Or maybe Azazel’s. You want her to be a guinea pig.” 

Gabriel flinched at the accusation. Amelia took a step forward. 

“You said we’d let her talk,” Amelia said, frowning. She remembered, of course. Her father had once been a parahuman, before he had traded his powers away. “So let’s have her talk—but not here. I want to know why this is necessary before anything else.” 

Natasha pursed her lips, nodding. 

### 

“You overestimate me. Even I have doubts about what is the right way forward.” 

The man who spoke turned his head towards the window. Azazel sat there, staring out into the empty night. 

“We’ve worked together for so many years, trying to find a way to save as many people as possible, putting our differences aside with His permission,” Azazel said, his fist clenched over his heart. “Do not seek to placate the likes of me, Raphael. It’s unbecoming. I help because I believe it is the only way.” 

Raphael nodded. His hand moved to his side, gripping a wheel and turning his wheelchair away from the desk. “It’s not that I wish to placate you, but rather that I wish for you to see things the way I see them. We were enemies in a war; we have killed each other’s subordinates without a second thought. Of course I would have doubts. There is only one infallible voice in this world, and I—well, as you can see, I am more fallible than most.”” 

Azazel averted his gaze. The fact that an Archangel, one of the Twelve-Winged Guardians of God’s Throne, has been reduced to such a sorry state… it made him uncomfortable, to say the least. His heart ached to shout at Raphael, to tell him there was nothing _fallible_ about him, that he was insulting himself and a thousand others for no reason at all. But he didn’t. Of all the people in the world, he had the least right to speak of it at all. 

“I have met her,” Azazel said instead. “She’s… back, in a way. This fragile peace—do you think it can hold?”  


“If it cannot, is it not our work to make sure that they will be able to protect themselves?” Raphael countered the question with one of his own. “This is not merely creating prisons for the dragons, this is—” 

“I know what this is,” Azazel said. “I am the Angel of the Forge. I am creating _weapons_.” 

“You’re creating tools for humans to defend themselves from those who would seek to destroy them,” Raphael said, his voice soft. “Kokabiel’s actions have proven just how much faster we have to work.” 

“If you had let me reveal myself, he would have never made it that far!” 

“You agreed to follow the rules that bind us all during your… employment.” 

Azazel’s face twisted into a quivering mess, almost childish in its appearance. “It’s hard, Raphael. To merely _watch_ —a pox on the damned irony—and stay my hand when I once Fell because I could not.” 

Raphael pushed himself out of the chair. Azazel was by his side before he could take two steps. The Archangel fended him away, taking another step himself, but his hands did not leave Azazel’s shoulders. “We all have our weaknesses, brother.” 

Raphael leaned in, then, this time pulling Azazel closer. Azazel returned the hug, all too aware of the way Raphael clung to him just a little too tightly. He was warm and smelled like open fields and blossoms in spring bloom. His knee trembled against Azazel’s, but not a hint of pain twisted his expression. “Seeing her again, it filled me with doubt. I wish I could be like her.” 

“You will be once our work is done,” Raphael said. “You of the Watchers, your crimes have been paid for. This is temporary; once you’re done with forging the Sacred Gears, once Father sends them out and makes sure that humans will be stronger for the days to come—” 

“Once we will have to go our separate ways again?” 

“We’re never separated,” Raphael said, pulling out of the hug. He pressed his lips onto Azazel’s forehead, soft, gentle. “All we do, brother, is follow our own paths.” 

“Were those paths not of blood so many years ago?”  


“You cannot wash blood with blood. We cannot protect them; one day even the Archangels will fall to blades that seek Heaven’s throne. All we can do is give them shields to turn those blades aside when the war comes for them. You’re not doing this for yourself.” 

Azazel’s grip on his brother tightened. “Sometimes I fear that just like him, I will forget who I am doing this for.”  


Kokabiel, liar and cheat. Monster and murderer. 

Betrayer of his own ideals. 

“And if I do—” Azazel clenched his fists on Raphael’s back. As it had always been, as Bezaliel has shouted on the fields of battle before each and every fight: for that beautiful finity. “Please. Take your sword to my chest.” 

“If that day comes, brother, perhaps I will be the second Archangel to Fall,” Raphael said. “So for both of our sakes, cast those thoughts aside. You are nothing like him.” 

“I’m not overestimating you at all,” Azazel said, a sad smile dancing on his lips. “You’re the strongest of all of us, after all. Not even Michael could match your valor.” 

### 

“One of the most notorious cults in the midwest has been dismantled. The PRT East-North-East has reported that their leader, Starsworn, has been killed in a fight against the former prolific crime lord and mass murderer Marquis—” 

A press of a button. Another channel. 

“The situation has been described as ‘dire’ by experts, yet the government refuses to act against the doomsday cultists—” 

Another press of a button. Another channel. The same old news. 

“There have been verified cases of kidnappings organized by the Dragon Cult, multiple attempts to destroy the Hero’s Dragonslayer ‘Gram’, and yet both the FBI and the PRT refuse to deal—” 

The remote embedded itself into the screen, sending a wash of cracks and dead pixels spiderwebbing across the TV. Despite the lack of image and rather glaring hole, the sound continued. 

“Do you think it’s a coincidence? One six-winged cape dies and another one appears the same day? Lament refused to comment on the matter; as always the public is to remain in the dark on matters of _public_ interest!” 

The man stood up, moving towards the TV and put his foot through the entire damned contraption, sending sparks and shards of glass flying everywhere. He grumbled as he tried to yank his foot back and it caught on the edge of the hole he’d made. Once he’d gotten free, he stood and cracked his neck with a series of disgusting pops and a relieved sigh. 

“You seem irritated.” 

The man turned, his eyes moving over the woman that had spoken up. “I’m afraid that’s just how I look.” 

“I’m sure you also kick holes into television screens every day,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No, I’m afraid not.” 

He grabbed his pants, looking around for his t-shirt. She threw it at him. It was wrinkled and kind of smelled, but it would have to do. As he dressed, he raised a hand to his forehead, brushing his fingers over the raised, knotted lump of scar tissue that sat there. It felt heavy, throbbing under his touch, more painful than it had been for the past few years 

He winced, scowling, on his way out the door. 

**Book 2:** **If You Till The Soil**

**###############**

AN: 

Thank you all for tuning in and being here when I actually brought a story to something of a conclusion. I admit, there’s a lot of things I’m not happy with. I expected to be finished sometime last month, the story is very rushed in some places (and slow in some others), I’ve been beaten down by some stuff in my life and currently working through things. “Book 1” as I can now proudly say, has been completed, and I think it has something of a reasonable conclusion. 

While I do have plans for “Book 2”, I’m both energy-wise and financially incapable of continuing to write at the pace I have, and want to see into some other stuff I might pick up/rewrite again, or perhaps see for another story/fandom. I’m quite happy about the reception I’ve received, both in terms of the effort to comment ratio (and I appreciate those likes too, comments are just my lifeblood when it comes to motivating myself), and the comments themselves (sans the anime jerkoffs earlier in the thread, let’s be real here). 

My sense of wonder is just a little tired. 


End file.
